Crazy's Just a Choice
by lizardmm
Summary: Sunnydale doesn't exist….except inside of Buffy Summers' brain. Season 6 - "Normal Again"
1. Chapter 1

March 2002

Another job, another journal. And no – I didn't get fired or quit if that's what you're thinking. I actually got a better job if you can believe that – which I still can't really believe myself. When I read in the paper about the opening, I didn't think I had a chance. I'd heard this place was like a Hollywood spa compared to the State institution. But I had nothin' to lose, so why not.

Today was my first day at the swanky Beverly Hills Clinic. No more cleanin' up after nuts at the State asylum for me. I mean – I still have to clean up after loonies, but at least the place doesn't look like something out of a horror flick. The State place seriously gave me the creeps: understaffed…patients just wandering the hallways unsupervised. And I never though I'd get rid of the scent of old people and misery stuck up my nostrils.

I was nervous as hell today driving up the long, twisted driveway to the impressive glass and brick building. A big black guy, who later introduced himself as Cody, came out to greet me at the big front French doors. He curtly told me to park my jalopy in the back.

Jalopy? I wanted to yell at him. This car's a classic! But instead I gave him a tight-lipped smile and drove around to the employee entrance in the back.

The state-run join always smelled like diapers and rotting bananas. This new place doesn't exactly have a pleasant scent; kind of like recycled air and Glad Plug-ins, but it's an improvement.

After I got my bearings, a thick nurse named Thelma showed me around. Thelma's got this crazy mop of curly red hair like L'il Orphan Annie. But she's a little too wide and a little too saggy for anyone to make that mistake. Her wide blue eyes were lined with a shade of blue I hadn't seen since the late 1980s, and as she gave me the grand tour of the place, I tried to not get distracted by the wad of pink bubble gum she rolled around inside her mouth.

I can't afford to lose this job. Literally. Living in LA is hella expensive. I knew that when I moved here after high school. I didn't have any grand illusions about making it big in Tinseltown like more than half the people I meet out in the clubs. But I am escaping from something just like everyone else in this fake city.

Thelma said I wouldn't get a group of patients just yet. I'm on probation first, and I'll have to shadow one of the other orderlies before they'll trust me with the clientele. Thelma introduced me to a waspy blonde – Shelia – the woman I'll be shadowing the next week or so until I'm deemed worthy to clean up some crazy person's vomit by myself.

Shelia's got a real angular, Anglo-Saxon face – kinda like a Heidi Klum suckin' on lemons. If her mouth wasn't so puckered, she might actually be pretty, 'cause every time I look at her lips I can't help but think dirty thoughts.

After getting introduced to the rest of the help-staff (whose names I promptly forgot), Shelia took me on the rounds. She's got seven patients right now – says they never get more than ten at a time, so we've no excuse for over-flowing bedpans or chicken carcasses hidden under beds. Shelia's patients all have a variety of disorders – they purposely mix them all up so the Cutters don't get too chummy and have a razorblade party or find out the Bulimics are sharin' their Ex-lax.

One girl, Belle I think her name was…or Bella…I'm shit with names…has O.C.D. She's a Hoarder. Shelia found a magazine under her bed – apparently this chick's not allowed personal items in her room, and she screamed up a storm when Shelia threw it away.

"Don't let them get special privileges," she warned me, "or the doctors will have your neck for messin' with their treatments."

Shelia was real proud of the fact that one of her loons is some Hollywood starlet. I'd never heard the girl's name before, but I don't have cable and fuck if I'm spending almost $20 for a single movie ticket. She told me we get a lot of famous people – detoxing, running from the law or overly demanding schedules. I hope they don't stick me with some celebutante, though. Those kinda chicks get no sympathy from me.

All in all, it was a pretty uneventful day – not that I'm complaining though – cause those are the best kind, in my humble opinion.

5 March 2002

Day Two of shadowing Shelia the Great. I don't know what is it, but me and girls just don't get along. Even in a job setting, they always turn out to be real catty or some shit like they're worried I'm gonna steal their fuckin' boyfriend. Well Newsflash, if a guy's gonna stray, being a bitch to the competition ain't gonna help.

I never have to worry about Jarrod straying though. I got that boy so pussy-whipped he could catch me in bed with someone else and just ask if I needed a drink or a condom or something.

Jarrod can't understand why I do this kind of work. He keeps buggin' me to marry him and let him take me away from all of this, but I know better than to rely on some man for the bread on my table. He's a seriously good guy though – and sexy as fuck – but I just don't think of myself as the Marrying Kind. Plus his mom is a naggin' bitch.

Day Two was a little busier than yesterday. I guess Shelia's getting sick of having to explain things to me already, so I found myself alone a lot today. I'm fine with that though – never was much of a team player. So as soon as I get my own section of patients, I'll be golden.

Caught a girl hiding pills under her pillow today. Felt bad rattin' her out like that; girl seriously worked hard at building up that stash.

6 March 2003

Saw The Zombie today. Was eating lunch in the cafeteria with two other orderlies, Chris and Eva, when they pointed her out. The staff eats in the main cafeteria with all the patients. It's entertaining in a way – watchin' all those people with all those problems makes me feel a little normal.

Chris is either the most metrosexual dude in the city or a total Queen. I think the guy spends more time on his hair than I do. Eva's a sexy little Latina girl. She's workin' her way through college, so I've got hella respect for her doing that. Girlfriend's a short little thing with a hot little ass. Scrubs normally do nothing for the body, but I can just tell she's a tight Puerto Rican package.

I was chattin' it up with Chris and Eva about some movie they'd seen, and I'd probably never see, when the saddest looking girl stalked into the cafeteria. She caught my eye cause I've got a thing for bronzed blondes. Dunno what it is about tan, blonde chicks, but they really get my motor goin' if ya know what I mean.

But this girl looked so _defeated,_ I actually felt sorry for her. Her head was hung real low at first, so I couldn't see her face. Her wrists were real boney, just peaking out from the button-up Henley shirt they make the patients wear. She had a full head of blonde hair, cut short and sticking in all directions like she'd washed it, but wasn't allowed to style it.

She sat down at a vacant table with a redheaded orderly whose name I can't remember. And then I just kinda stared and watched like some kinda freak as the thin redhead ladled up some mushy oatmeal for Blondie to eat.

Red got some food in her hair, cause it was still hangin' in front of her face. But when her orderly tucked the strands behind her ears, I got a glimpse of one of the most hauntingly beautiful faces I've ever seen. Her face is kind of heat-shaped, I guess, with a real cute chin that kinda sticks out in a stubborn way. Her pink lips looked like they'd never been absent of lip-gloss and her upturned nose was the stuff cosmetic dreams are made of. Her eyebrows were carefully manicured and a shade darker than her hair, which made me think she's not a natural blonde. Everything on her face was perfectly proportioned – like the rest of her body.

Her eyes, however, almost made me drop my milk carton. It wasn't the color that threw me – kind of a hazel with green flecks when the sunlight streaming from the southern windows hit them just right. It was the depth that made me pause. It was like looking into an abyss. There was no emotion, no reaction, no humanity in those eyes.

If the eyes are the windows to the soul, than this woman was soulless.

Eve caught me staring and called me out. "That's The Zombie," she informed me in a casual tone. Then she gave me a real mysterious look and leaned forward as if she had a secret to reveal. "She's been here six years, and I hear she's only been lucid twice since then."

Chris stared at the blonde girl as well, not caring how obvious he was being. "It's a shame," he mumbled. "Such a pretty girl."

Eva slapped his arm playfully. "Oh, because it's only a tragedy when the _pretty_ ones go crazy."

I asked them what was wrong with the girl. Drugs? Skitzophrenia? Dementia?

Eva just shrugged. "I haven't seen her chart, and I've never been assigned to her." She nodded toward the redhead who continued to spoon feed the beautiful girl. "We call her The Zombie because she only uses her basic motor-skills – otherwise she's like a brain-dead vegetable."

"Six years and no change thought?" I asked. "What kind of treatments are they tryin' on her?"

Chris gave me a strange look and asked why I was so curious about this girl. And I couldn't explain it myself really. Normally I'm pretty detached and cynical when it comes to the people locked up in these places; but for some reason I found myself actually feeling sorry for the Zombie.

7 March 2002

Don't have a lot of time to write tonight. Jarrod is picking me up in a few minutes to go to dinner. Probably will be the most I'll have eaten all week – guy loves to see me eat for some sick reason.

Had the fucking-est strange thing happen today. I was doing my rounds, getting kinda lost to the routine – go in patient's room, change their sheets, etc. – when one of Eva's charges wandered up to me. Her name's Anu. She's this elderly Indian woman with thick grey hair pulled back in a severe burn. Her skin is the color of a paper bag, and I never see her without a walker with those tennis balls jabbed on the bottom legs.

She started to babble about how she had wanted to be a nun and was this close to joining a convent when the devil broke her leg. Told me her family had kept her in the hospital now for three years. Her grey eyes started to tear up, and I felt real uncomfortable cause I don't do well with women crying in front of me. Never was good at consoling people or anything like that.

I started to kind of zone out what she was saying cause her accent was so thick. I could hardly understand every other word. But then she started talking about how she was praying for everyone at the clinic to get better and pointed down the hallway.

When my eyes followed where she was pointing to, I saw just a glimpse of The Zombie being walked into her room. I knew it was her right away cause nobody else here has blonde hair like that.

Anu said she was especially praying for "that one." Said she was praying for God to open her eyes. And then she said the weirdest thing. "But God can only help those that want to be helped."

I don't know why it struck me; I'm sure as hell not a religious person. Anyway, I gotta hit the shower. I smell like vomit and Mac & Cheese.

8 March 2002

Had the day off today, so I went to the beach.

God, my legs are lookin' pasty. We don't get to go outside much at the clinic, so I like to spend my off days doing anything that keeps me outside. Plus I work such long hours at the clinic, I'm there before the sun's up, and after battling traffic on the way home in the Valley, there's not much more light to speak of.

Jarrod wanted to stay the night last night cause I could sleep-in in the morning, but sleep trumps sex, so I kicked him home once I'd gotten my fill of him.

He wants me to move in with him. At least now I've got this job as an excuse not to. The commute from his place would be wicked long.

Gonna go now. I think I'll spend the rest of the night watching baseball on TV and drinking some beer.

11 March 2002

Sorry I've missed a few days. But didn't really have the energy and nothing really worth writing has happened the past few days. Fucking rough day at work today though.

So here's what happened: I was just doin' my rounds as usual, pushing around my little metal cart with all the toiletries on it. Have to restock the bedrooms while everyone is out of their rooms doing other stuff like art therapy or whatever.

I don't know why I decided to stop outside of the group therapy room at that exact moment, but I did. I normally keep my nose outta that kinda stuff – I don't need to know these peoples' deep, dark secrets and how their moms never loved 'em enough or bought 'em a puppy. Mine didn't either, but I turned out all right.

So anyway, I stopped in the hallway just outside of the room where they hold group therapy sessions. A handful of patients were sitting in folding chairs in a circle, gabbin' about their problems.

Dr. Primrose, one of the only decent doctors in the joint, was gettin' people to care and share and all that shit. And then I hear Doc P's voice say _her _name. Buffy. The name struck me as kinda funny, and I stuck my head in the doorway to catch a glimpse of the poor sucker whose parents stuck her with a name like that. And it was _her. _

The Zombie.

Her hazel-green eyes showed no recognition that Dr. P was sayin' her name. But I knew that she was 'Buffy' cause Doc was sitting next to her and had her hand on her forearm, trying to coax something outta her. Was trying to get The Zombie to contribute to the group, I guess.

I don't know why I chose that moment to get a case of the dropsies, cause the bedpan in my hands totally slipped from my grip and crashed onto the linoleum floor. Made the most horrible kind of sound. Plastic hitting ugly tile.

I scrambled to pick it up and scoot back down the hallway without being noticed, but I wasn't fast enough. Everyone's eyes were all staring at me. But not the Zombie. She was just staring straight ahead like nothing had happened.

I cleared my throat anxious and said I was sorry to have interrupted. And then it happened. Maybe it was my voice? Maybe it was just coincidence? But the Zombie's eyes flicked suddenly over towards the doorway where I was standing.

I felt like my shoes were glued to the floor. She actually _looked _at me. It was the first time I'd ever seen her really focus on anything, and that _thing _was _me._

And then her achingly innocent and beautiful face contorted into the most _angry _and _bitter _visage I'd ever seen. And faster than any human should be able to move, she jumped out of her folding chair, shoved past all the other patients and doctors, and was in my face.

I've been attacked by belligerent patients before in my career as an orderly – nasty bruises from gettin' bit, but nothing could compare to this.

The Zombie shoved me backwards, and I stumbled over the wheels of my cart. I landed hard on my ass and the back of my head cracked against the hard floor. In a flash she was on top of me, straddling my torso between her thighs and her thin, feminine fingers were around my neck, squeezing the breath out of me.

Two thoughts screamed through my head as The Zombie crashed the back of my skull, again and again, onto the marble-tiled floor. First, _Holy Fuck this girl is Strong_. And secondly, _Why the hell does she keep calling me "Faith"?_

In a flash, a handful of orderlies were on her, clawing her off of me. Someone had an injection of morphine, I guess, and they quickly stabbed it into her arm. All the while she's screaming obscenities and glaring at me like she knows me. Like she fucking knows me and I'm to blame for everything bad that's ever happened in her life.

All I could do was stare, dumbfounded, from my prone position on the floor as they carried her, kicking and screaming, down the hallway and into one of the treatment rooms. My neck felt raw from her fingers and my head was throbbing. Dr. Primrose was at my side, asking if I was okay. I just nodded that I was fine, just a little shocked, but she insisted I take the rest of the day off.

Doc P kept shaking her head. Said she's never seen 'Buffy' react like that before. She ran off quickly, into the room where they'd taken The Zombie, but as I was packing up my stuff in the locker room, she showed up again. The doctor apologized once more to me, even though it wasn't her fault The Zombie freaked out like that. I told her so too, but she just shook her head and then asked me to come to her office tomorrow morning when I get in. Needs to talk to me about something. She didn't get any more specific than that, but something in my gut tells me it has to do with The Zombie.

Time for some beer and a long shower. Cause I have a feeling tomorrow's going to be one helluva interesting day.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**12 March 2002**

My head is so full, it might explode.

Dr. Primrose paged me into her office as soon as I got to work this morning. I honestly felt like I was back in middle school, gettin' called down to the principal's office. Of course it didn't help that Chris and Eva both made a big deal about it like I was really in trouble.

News had spread fast about what had gone down yesterday between me and The Zombie. I felt like everyone was whispering and staring at me – even some of the more lucid patients – as I walked down the corridor to the doctor's office.

Doc P. greeted me at the door and offered me some hot tea when I took a seat in one of the rigid chairs on the opposite side of her desk. I declined, but if she had offered something stronger, I might have been tempted. But it wasn't even 8am yet and who drinks hard liquor at that hour?

I'd never been inside any of the doctors' offices here, so I don't have anything to compare it to. The room had one window, but Dr. P had turned on the overhead light since it was so overcast outside. Her mahogany desk was large, but looked small under the mountain of loose-leaf papers and manila folders. A solo picture frame was nearly hidden by all the patient files.

I don't know why, maybe nerves, but I picked up the picture and looked at it. The doctor answered my unasked question and said the two kids in the photo were her nieces. She wasn't married herself. Said she'd spent too much time on her career to worry about dating.

When I put the photo back on the desk, I saw her giving me an odd smile. She said I probably didn't have any problems finding dates. It made me nervous, even though I know it was just an innocent comment. Something always irks me when people comment on my looks. I mean, I've got eyes and I've seen my own reflection, so I know I'm pretty attractive – if you're into brunettes with dimples, that is. But I'd like for people to know me and more than just a pretty face attached to a tight body. I've got a brain, too, ya know?

She must've sensed my unease, because she quickly changed the subject and started to talk about why she'd called me in that morning. And my suspicions were right. It had something to do with The Zombie. Her real name, it turns out, is Buffy Summers. She's about my age, a little older actually, but she's been at the asylum since the summer after her freshman year at high school. That little bit of information really rocked me. I mean, sure high school sucked big time, but not as much as being locked up here would.

Just think of all the things she must've missed out on. Prom? Graduation? Fuck, I bet she's even still a virgin. I asked Dr. P why she was here and why she'd been here for so long. It's not everyday you see high schoolers just BAM, suddenly need institutionalization. No raging teenage hormones or bad attitudes ever got a kid locked up in a loony bin, ya know?

Apparently the girl was totally normal before. She was popular at school, a cheerleader even (okay, so maybe she's _not _a virgin). Only child. Both parents still together. Upper-middle class. But then one day she snapped. Burned down her high school gymnasium because she thought she was a superhero.

I sat in silence – disbelief – as Dr. Primrose explained to me Buffy Summers' psychosis. She had created a world within her mind. A place called Sunnydale where she was the Slayer – a Vampire Slayer. But she didn't just kill vampires, it was demons of all kinds. Werewolves, the Boogey Man, and other creatures that make up the canon of creepy-crawlies all existed in her world. Dr. P explained that whenever she retreated into her mind, whenever she was The Zombie, that's where she was. Sunnydale, California. And she was saving the world.

Since her incarceration, Buffy had only come out of that state of mind twice – three counting yesterday's confrontation. The rest of the time she'd been completely unresponsive to every kind of treatment the doctors could think of. And they had lost hope quite a while ago, Dr. P admitted with a frown. The doctor explained that Buffy was so deeply entrenched in her world because she'd created a support group there. She had created friends and even a little sister who helped her slay the demons.

As I sat there, getting inundated with all this intimate, supposedly confidential patient information, I couldn't help but wonder why the Good Doctor was telling me all of this. What did it have to do with _me_?

When Dr. P finally got to the end of Story Time, she leaned forward in her chair and looked at me with a serious face. She told me that she wants – no, _needs _– my help. Buffy had never reacted like she had yesterday. Not in the entire six years she'd been in this place. The doctor said she wanted me to visit Buffy that morning to see if I could snap her out of her mind again, or if it had just been a fluke.

After she'd attacked me yesterday, Doc P told me, Buffy had struggled with the other orderlies for a while, screaming about a girl named Faith. She had fought, clawing and kicking, saying she needed to get Faith. Faith was responsible for her being there, she had insisted. Finally, however, the sedatives kicked in and Buffy had slipped back into her mind.

Doctor Primrose said that if I chose to help, they would restrain Buffy on her bed. That way if my being there did provoke a similar response as yesterday, I'd be in no danger of being attacked. She told me she'd even have the other orderlies divvy up my rounds so that I would have the entire day to pop in and out of Buffy's room. That would be my only assignment for the day.

I told her I needed to think about it for a little bit, but thanked her for the opportunity to help. I grabbed a quick breakfast of toast and eggs from the cafeteria (one of the few perks of the job – free meals), and thought it over. What could I say, but yes? After all, I'm still on probation for this job and my refusal to assist one of the top doctors with the treatment of a patient might be enough to terminate my employment. And I need this job.

Besides, if I let myself admit it, I really wanted to see her again. Not because I was anxious to get my head beat in again, though. I'm no _anguissette_. I don't get off on pain or anything. There was just something about Buffy Summers that made me want to see her again, even if it was just at a distance.

After I dumped my breakfast tray, I had Dr. Primrose paged and headed over to Buffy's room. Two massively built orderlies, two guys named Cody and Jacob, were there along with Dr. Primrose. I don't know either of the guys that well, beyond the fact that Cody had called my car a jalopy, but with the size of their biceps, I knew I could trust them to keep this small blonde from attacking me. It surprised me a little to see the doctor…like she knew that I'd agree to help even before I knew it.

When I first walked in the room, Buffy looked like she usually does – zombie-fied. Her hazel-green eyes didn't register me at all when I entered the doorway and cautiously made my way over to her bedside. Her wrists and ankles were bound down to the hospital bed with thick leather straps, but she wasn't struggling like the last time I'd seen her. Instead, she stared straight up at the ceiling, no emotion at all on her face.

Dr. Primrose thanked me for helping out. Then she gave me a tight smile and asked if I was ready to begin. I just grunted because my throat suddenly tightened up with nerves.

"Buffy," she began softly. "It's Dr. Primrose. There's someone here to see you."

Buffy didn't respond at all to the doctor's words. Guess she wasn't interested in talking to anyone. "Buffy," the doctor continued in a kind voice. "Faith is here to see you."

At the mere _mention_ of the name 'Faith', I could see the blonde patient's body tense. Her jaw began moving erratically like she was clenching her jaw over and over again.

Fuck. I felt tricked. Betrayed. Dr. P hadn't said _anything_ about me pretending to be this girl, Faith. My eyes must've gotten the size of saucers because the Good Doctor held up a hand. But that wasn't enough to get me to stay. I bolted out of the room.

I escaped into the hallway and tried to get my breathing under control. Dr. Primrose didn't follow me, but I could hear Buffy yelling and cursing in her room. The doctor was probably sticking around to write down everything Buffy said.

"Where is she?" I overheard her scream. "Show her to me! This is all _her _fault that I'm here, I know it! I don't belong here. You have to let me go. How did she do this to me? What did she do? Why am I here? How is she out of prison? Faith! Show yourself!"

It hurt me, more than I expected to hear her cry out like that. Her voice was filled with pain and rage and disbelief. This girl, Faith, must have really hurt her to make her react this way.

I felt a shiver run through me; she thinks _I'm _Faith. She thinks I'm responsible for this hell she's trapped in.

When Buffy finally quieted down, Dr. Primrose reappeared in the hallway and found me.

"I'm sorry I did that to you," she quickly apologized. "I suppose I could have done that test without you even in the room," she admitted.

I opened my mouth to bitch at her, but realized it could probably get me fired. So I bit my tongue instead. How could this ill-conceived plan have helped Buffy at all? I wanted to demand of her. All it did was making her fucking crazier than usual.

But it's not my place to question the doctors' motives and treatments. I'm just the girl who makes the beds and cleans up the vomit.

I didn't go back to Buffy's room for the rest of the day. Dr. Primrose didn't ask me to either. I stayed away from that entire wing of the hospital until my shift was over because I didn't want her to even _hear _my voice for fear of what it might do to her. And to me. A little self-preservation is necessary sometimes.

13 March 2002

Buffy's parents came to visit her today.

Dr. Primrose had called them up after I got off of work yesterday to tell them about Buffy's "break-through" - that she'd discovered a way to trigger her to come out of her zombie-like-coma. Both her mom and dad took the day off of work to come see for themselves.

They hadn't been to see her in months, but I can't really blame them. I can't imagine having a daughter in this state, and being so helpless as parents, not being able to help her get better.

Plus it's not like it's a new illness. She's been here for six years. We get friends and families in here everyday for the newest patients. But then after a few months you see less and less of those familiar faces as they give up hope that their loved ones can be cured of their illness. And then we just become a junkyard for souls – a hiding place for family embarrassments – instead of a place of healing

Buffy's parents were kind of just what I expected. Mrs. Summers was blonde and attractive despite being a Mom. I could tell the moment I saw her how much she cared for her daughter's return to health. Whenever Dr. Primrose spoke, her face exuded a kind of interested desperation. She honestly trusted the doctor to help her daughter get better.

Her father, however, was a little insipid. You could tell he was a lawyer or useless businessman or something. Stockbroker? I don't know exactly, but I got the impression that it was some kind of occupation where you make a lot of money, but in kind of a sleazy, unearned way.

Dr. Primrose shouldn't have needed my assistance with her 'demonstration' in front of Buffy's parents. I knew that. All she had to do was say the name 'Faith', and Buffy would turn all Pavlov's Dog again. But she asked me to come, so I did. I felt a little like a prize monkey at the petting zoo when she introduced me to Buffy's parents, Joyce and Hank, but they were civil enough to me.

So the four of us went to Buffy's room. Me, her parents, and Doctor P. I don't know where Cody and Jacob were, but I suppose Dr. P decided we would be safe enough. Or she was just being careless.

Buffy was in her bed again. The restraints were still on her wrists and ankles as they had been the last time I saw her. I glanced over at her parents to gauge their reactions. Would they be okay seeing their daughter shackled like a criminal? But if Buffy's family was alarmed or suspicious, their faces didn't show it. If anything, Hank Summers looked mildly bored.

Neither her parents greeted her when they walked in the room. I wondered if they still looked at her and saw their daughter, or just an empty shell. From what Dr. P had told me though, I expect The Zombie was the complete opposite of who Buffy Summers had been before.

I had wondered to myself if they had let her get out of bed since she had attacked me two days ago. Her hair looked slightly damp, however, so they'd at least given her a bath.

Like the previous day, Dr. Primrose walked over to Buffy's bedside. "Buffy," she called out in that same, soothing tone. "Buffy, you've got more guests today."

And again there was no initial response.

"Buffy," she continued. "Your parents are here. Can you sit up and say hello to your mom and dad?" And again, Buffy remained motionless, and emotionless in her bed.

"Dr. Primrose," Hank Summers started in a slightly impatient tone. "You told us that she was making progress," he pressed.

The doctor held up a hand and gave the man a tight smile. Her body language told me she was used to the kind of pushy, bossy demeanor of Buffy's father. But in this room, Dr. Primrose was in control, not this stuffy upper-middle class man.

Dr. P called my name, catching my attention and crooked her finger, indicating she wanted me to come stand by her. I hesitantly made my way over to her and I swear I heard Buffy's mom hold her breath. Dr. P gave me a kind, maternal smile and placed her hand on my shoulder. She told me to stand by Buffy's bed and say something to her.

"Doctor," Buffy's dad stated again. "I don't see how this girl…"

He trailed off, but he didn't need to complete his sentence. Dr. Primrose obviously hadn't told them about me. And I was sure as hell they had no idea what to expect when their daughter found out I was in the room. Fuck.

I stood over Buffy, trying hard not to run out of the room. Why should I be afraid of this girl? She was restrained, after all. But I think more than the fear of getting physically hurt by Buffy Summers, I just kept replaying over and over again in my mind the pain that had been on _her _face. What kind of sadistic treatment was this, making her believe that someone who she hated was in the room with her, unencumbered, while she wasted away inside of an insane asylum?

"Say something," Dr. Primrose once again gently coaxed me.

I cleared my throat. And said the first, stupid thing that came to my mouth. "Hi, Buffy."

Her eyes shifted slightly in their sockets and I took a sudden step backwards only to find that Dr. Primrose had moved. Her insistent hands were in the small of my back, and she pushed me back towards Buffy's bedside. "Keep going," she ordered me in a not unkind voice.

"Buffy," I began again. "I'm here with your parents."

And then she let out the most ear-piercing shriek I've ever heard. Damn. Girl's got a set of lungs on her. I covered my ears quickly with my hands to muffle the screaming and quickly stepped away from Buffy's bedside. When I removed my hands, Buffy was craning her neck and was staring at me. The ice and venom I saw in those hazel irises are the things nightmares are made of.

"Where are they?" she demanded of me. "What have you done with my parents, Faith?"

Again with the Faith. This wasn't going to end well.

"Buffy!" Joyce Summers called out. She rushed over to her daughter's bedside, unable to remain a spectator any longer. "I'm right here, honey," she soothed, stroking Buffy's blonde hair.

"Has she hurt you?" the crazy girl asked her mother. "Are you alright?"

"Sweetheart," Joyce murmured, drawn in by her daughter's violent concern for her well-being, "has _who _hurt me?"

"Faith!" Buffy cried out again. "I won't let her hurt you, Mom. You've got to get me out of here. You've got to untie these straps." She struggled against her restraints, but was unable to move. "I can't keep you safe if I'm in here."

"Buffy." This time Hank Summers stepped over to his daughter's bedside. I felt like I was watching a soap opera. I should have left the room. This was obviously a very intimate, personal moment, but I was rooted to the spot. "We're safe, dear. And we just want you to get better so we can take you home with us."

"Dad?" Buffy's eyes snapped away from her mother's face and refocused on the chiseled features of her father. "You're here? With Mom?"

Buffy's father nodded wordlessly.

Tears began to stream down Buffy's angelic features and I felt my heart ache inside of my chest. She looked so young. So in pain. And so helpless to everything that was going on around her. She was clearly confused as to what was going on, still unable to separate her own world from the real world.

I couldn't take it anymore, so I mumbled that I was going to leave. And then the shit hit the fan. Buffy screamed again. It's not so flattering when someone screams every time they hear your voice. The veins in her neck strained as she continued to try and free herself from the leather binds.

"Faith!" she yelled, as if she had forgotten her parents were still in the room, "why do you hate me so much?" she demanded of me. "Why have you done this to me?"

Large tears fell down her face, harder than before, and her body shook. It was the kind of crying that rakes over your body and all you want to do is curl into a ball. But Buffy Summers couldn't crawl into the fetal position. She was strapped down to her assigned bed.

I was really shaken by what had transpired and as soon as Dr. Primrose suggested we leave the room, I bolted. But not before Buffy's parents could express their gratitude. Mrs. Summers even pulled me into a tight hug when we left the room. She called me a 'miracle'. I don't know what she was looking at in there though. I mean, her daughter wants to kill me. She was sobbing and screaming and pulling at her restraints for the opportunity to tear out my throat. Why would the Summers _want _to see that kind of behavior from their daughter? Why would that be cause to celebrate? Was it really an improvement on The Zombie? Sure she's showing emotion again, but now she's like a serial killer or a rabid animal or something.

They were so excited and so hopeful after Dr. Primrose's 'demonstration' that it made me uneasy. It's like they expected _me_ to be able to snap Buffy out of her psychosis. But I'm certainly no doctor. I'm no miracle worker. I'm just the girl who changes the patients' bedpans.

Plus Buffy keeps calling me "Faith." That's not my name. And it's seriously starting to creep me out.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

14 March 2002

I think Buffy's parents smoke crack.

When I got into work today, I had a post-it on my staff locker from Dr. Primrose. She wanted me to come into her office as soon as I got into work that morning. Surprise, surprise.

I changed into my scrubs and made my way over to the doctor's office. Buffy's room was on my walk, so I peaked in to see if she was still there, still strapped to her bed. But the room was empty.

I felt a slight flush of anxiety and panic that perhaps she'd escaped. And was hunting me. But no one escapes from those kinds of restraints, I reasoned to myself. More likely than not, Buffy's parents had come to their senses and had taken her home, after seeing Dr. Primrose's ideas about patient 'treatment.' I thought that maybe the doctor just wanted to see me to let me know she wasn't going to be under our care anymore.

But I have to admit, even that thought made me slightly panicky as well. That I wouldn't get to see Buffy anymore. Which is totally fucked up. I mean, every time the girl hears my voice she goes all Linda Blair! Maybe I really am a masochist.

I made my way to Dr. P's office a little faster with the knowledge that Buffy wasn't in her room anymore. Otherwise I might've stopped off and gotten some cereal at least before seeing the doctor. Dr. P looked up sharply when I walked into her office without knocking.

I told her that Buffy wasn't in her room, but she only nodded, unconcerned, and motioned for me to take a seat across from her.

I demanded to know where she was and startled myself. Why was I so concerned about a girl I barely knew?

When she told me Buffy was at breakfast, I sat down, embarrassed and silent. We sat in silence for a few more seconds, but it felt longer to me. I asked her what she wanted to see me for, awkwardly scratching at my neck. I'd never snapped at a doctor like that although I've wanted to plenty of times before.

Finally, Dr. P spoke: "Buffy's parents were very pleased to see her improvement yesterday."

"Improvement?" I squawked out. I quickly caught my tongue, however, knowing my place.

The doctor told me that Buffy's parents had cleared me to continue working with their daughter. I nearly fell out of my chair when she told me. She said she had worked out a plan. She called it a 'reintroduction' plan where I'd slowly reintroduce Buffy to the world.

She said she didn't want me pretending to be Faith anymore (which I felt compelled to tell her I'd never pretended in the first place. That was all _her_ doing). Once Buffy sees that I'm not this girl, Dr. P believes she'll open up to me.

She asked what I thought of the plan. And I told her that firstly, Buffy needed Prozac, not me. How could she honestly expect me to 'reintroduce' a patient if every time she heard the sound of my voice, she went berserk? Were we going to play Charades? Did we both learn American Sign Language?

Secondly, I'm no psychologist. I'm low girl on the totem pole.

Dr. P said not to worry about either concern. They'd make sure Buffy was heavily medicated or restrained around me until she started trusting me. And in regards to my second worry, she reminded me that at some point in everyone's life, they're low person on the totem. Everyone should have a chance to move up; and this was my opportunity.

I sat, thinking, considering. And then she told me I'd get paid to only look after Buffy. And I'd get paid the same they give to the salaried doctors when they first start out. Of course that sweetened the deal. But I still have my own safety to think about.

So Dr. P told me to take the day to work with Buffy one-on-one. And if it didn't work out, if I didn't want to help out, I could walk away from the offer without threatening my job security. So I took the bait and agreed to work with the girl for the day.

I wasn't surprised when I went into Buffy's room afterwards and found her flat on her back in bed. It made me feel sorry for her, actually. Ever since 'the incident', her freedom had been conspicuously taken away. Although to be honest, who knows if she actually realizes what she's lost. She could be on a ride at Disneyland inside her head for all we know.

Dr. P's words bolstered me somehow. Like, I felt confident for the first time that I could do some good.

But then it all came crashing to a halt when I told Buffy 'Good Morning.' She screamed and freaked out and practically foamed at the mouth, and I ran out of the room. Dr. Primrose can find someone else to do her dirty work. Life's too short.

15 March 2002

I think I'm the biggest pushover in the history of pushovers. Or else I've got a soft spot for blondes. Maybe both.

When I got to work today, Buffy's mom, Joyce, was waiting for me. Dr. P had called the Summers to inform them that I wasn't going to work with her daughter, so she decided to show up and take matters into her own hands. She brought in a photo album of when Buffy was younger, and it actually moved me. I mean, I'm no Grinch or Ice Queen, but I pride myself on being pretty level-headed, if not stoical.

Joyce was all business at first, total PTA mom. But then when she started showing me pictures of Buffy when she was younger and telling me stories of what her daughter used to be like, she got a little teary. Fuck. I can't believe I agreed to give it another try.

Buffy had calmed down when she saw her mom was there the last time, so I asked Joyce if she could stick around for part of the day to help me with her daughter. She quickly agreed.

Joyce tried talking to Buffy first, but her eyes weren't registering anything at all. So I took a deep breath and started to talk. It wasn't anything directed toward her specifically. No, 'Hello, Buffy's this time. I just recited a few lines from a children's book I remember my Mom reading to me when I was little…

_And they roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws. _

Kinda fitting, if you ask me.

She didn't exactly freak out like she had done yesterday, but her terrible eyes rolled around in her skull for a while until I seriously worried I had broken her. In front of her mom. Nice work, me.

Her mom called out her name a few times, but it didn't do anything. So I stepped in and tried. When I said 'Buffy', her eyes snapped to attention and she stared at me. Hard.

"Why do you hate me so much?" she wanted to know.

Gotta say I wasn't expecting that. She didn't scream at all. Things were looking good. I told her I didn't hate her, but she struggled against the binds at her wrists as if that was proof enough that I had some kind of vendetta against her.

I told her the straps were for her own safety (company line), but it was really just for _my _safety. Joyce kept stroking at her hair, brushing the blonde locks out of her confused face. The whole situation overwhelmed me, so I did something stupid. I unfastened her wrists.

Buffy's entire body tensed when my fingertips brushed against her wrists as I undid the leather straps that kept her trapped on the bed. When Joyce saw what I was doing, she kept murmuring words of reassurance to Buffy. Although she should have been reassuring _me _that I was doing the right thing.

As soon as the second strap was undone, Buffy sat straight up in bed. Her suddenly free hands clenched around my throat. There was venom in her gaze as she stared hard into my own eyes. I futilely scratched at her rigid fingers as she subtly squeezed my throat, threatening to crush my windpipe with her hands. I heard Joyce's screams flooding my ears, and I began to see white dots in my vision.

But as abruptly as she had grabbed me, she suddenly dropped me and pushed me away from her bedside. The air came rushing back into my raw throat and I gasped, gulping to feed my starved lungs. Her ankles were still fastened, so she was still contained in her bed.

"I don't know how you did it, but you're not going to get away with it," she growled at me.

I swallowed hard before speaking. "I'm not who you think I am," I responded, coming to my feet once again. "I'm not Faith."

I felt like I was a character in the _Exorcist _the way she was sitting in bed and glaring at me. If her head had started to spin around, I don't think I would have even been surprised.

Buffy crossed her thin arms across her chest. "You just _happen_ to have her face then," she snorted in a sarcastic tone. Her hazel eyes looked at me for a moment longer, sweeping over my form. "And her body."

I didn't have any answers for her. Why should I look like someone from her past? But then again, maybe her "Faith" didn't even exist. Maybe she was just one of her Sunnydale creations. But if she was, why would Buffy have created a character who seemed to serve no other purpose than to hurt her?

"Buffy," her mother called out from the corner of the room she'd been standing in. "She's just a girl who wants to help you get better. We all want to help you get better."

Buffy didn't acknowledge Joyce's words. She just kept staring at me. I was starting to get annoyed with her attitude though. I don't know why I felt the need to challenge her, even though she'd just tried to strangle me.

I took a step closer and I saw her flinch. Maybe she was more afraid of me than I was of her.

"So we have the same face," I said to her. "And the same body, apparently. But what else? Do we have the same voice? Do we have the same haircut? How about it, Buffy? Does she do her make-up like me? What about my scent? Do we wear the same perfume? Oh yeah, and does she work in an insane asylum?"

With each new question, Buffy's eyes became larger and larger. Then her hands went up to her hair and she pulled at the stringy strands. "Just stop it!" she shrieked. "I'm not crazy! You're the one who's crazy, Faith. You've always been the crazy one."

I should have taken pity on her, but I didn't. I guess getting strangled one too many times made something snap.

I got really close to her shirking body, looming as large as I could over her bed-ridden body. "If I'm the crazy one," I purred lowly in her ear so her mom couldn't overhear me, "then why are _you_ the one tied up."

I didn't wait to hear her response. I just turned on my heels and left. I knew nothing productive would come from me staying. I knew I'd crossed a line that shouldn't have been hurdled. But I did it. And it felt fucking good.

With all the excitement of the past few days, I'd nearly forgotten that tomorrow's one of my days off. They don't put us on a regular schedule because the doctors don't want the patients knowing too much about us or keeping track of us in case it feeds their disability.

When I left work at the end of the day, however, I wasn't sure if I would be asked to come back.

16 March 2002

Had the day off today, but didn't really feel like going out, so I just bummed around in my pajamas all day drinking coffee and playing video games. This job can be so draining. Always worrying about taking care of others that you sometimes forget to take care of yourself.

Jarrod called me all day long like he instinctively knew I was home, just avoiding his calls. After a dinner of ramen and applesauce, I finally picked up one of Jarrod's many phone calls. I agreed to see him, but when he came over, all he wanted to do was hump.

He's not too happy that I haven't made it a priority to hang out with him my every free moment outside of work. I told him things were busy and stressful in my life right now. I mean, fuck. I just started a new job. And it's not like it's a regular job where I can come home and forget about everything that happened that day. This job doesn't work that way.

Why can't he be more considerate? I'm sorry if he's not getting sex as often as he'd like. But it's not like I'm getting my bell rung either. But he never thinks about things like that.

I'm not looking forward to going back to work tomorrow. Who knows what Buffy's going to do or how she's going to react after not seeing me for a full day. Plus maybe Mrs. Summers told Dr. Primrose about what had happened and I'll be greeted with a nice pink slip in my locker.

17 March 2002

Today was a rough day.

Buffy was gone for most of the day. Mentally, I mean. That didn't mean I got the day off of babysitting her or trying to get her to wake up. Joyce had filled Dr. Primrose in on everything that had gone down between us a few days ago, and the doctor gave me a stern lecture, but that wasn't the worst part of the day.

Oh no.

If all I had to do was sit in there and read to her or talk to her, it woulda been a cakewalk of a day. But the Blonde One was gettin' a little ripe. And since I'm apparently her primary caregiver now, that meant one thing. Sponge bath.

I'm certified or whatever to give people baths, so I wasn't worried about that. I just didn't like the thought of the Zombie suddenly becoming the Banshee in the middle of her afternoon bath. It's not like the bathtubs have restraints on them. That's even a little too kinky for my tastes. And they don't let male orderlies in the women's bathrooms, so the best I could hope for is some strappin' Big Bertha as my security.

Buffy let me take her by the hand and lead her down the hallway toward the shower room. It's a giant room that reminds me of my old high school's gym locker room. One big communal shower in the center with benches around the exterior. It's kind of drab and depressing in there, if you ask me. But off through another room is a rectangular room with large windows. It's far more cheery there with all the natural sunlight it gets. About a dozen bathtubs are lined up in the room. That's where I had to take Buffy.

If she was more lucid, she could have taken a shower by herself. But no such luck. And there's no way I'm stripping down to help her shower in the main room…That's asking a little too much of me.

Although this bath might be asking a little too much of me, too. I ran the water for her bath and helped Buffy out of her thermal tank top and the pajama-like bottoms all the patients wear. She had on no undergarments beneath, which surprised me. Her breasts looked far too perky under her top to be braless. The wonders of the human form.

Buffy stepped into the bathtub instinctively when I turned the water off. I winced, not having had the foresight to check the water temperature before she hopped in, but her face didn't show if she thought it was too hot or too cold. I felt the water, but I'd done all right.

I thought if I just stayed silent the entire time, then she would have no reason to snap out of her coma. And I was happy to just sponge her down in silence. I'm not one for small talk anyway, and I've always thought it makes it more embarrassing for everyone involved if you try to talk about the weather or local sports when one of you is naked and in a tub full of hot water.

Despite years of relative inactivity, Buffy's body miraculously was in good shape. I don't know how the clinic had managed to keep her in such good form after six years of being a virtual vegetable, but I couldn't help admiring the strength of her thin muscles as I washed her back and arms. If any Hollywood starlet could see her body, they'd be banging down our front doors to get institutionalized.

But of course I shouldn't have been thinking about her body, as well-proportioned as it might be. Even now I feel a little pervy writing this all down. But girls are allowed to admire other women's bodies, right? Doesn't everyone have thoughts like mine?

Before I was too into the bath, the bar of soap slipped out of my unsure hands and slid across the tiled floor. When I swore under my breath at my clumsiness, (or at least I _thought _it was under my breath), Buffy came alive.

Her eyes shifted in her head, like one of those old-fashioned toy dolls whose eyes open and close when you lay them down. That's really all she is, actually…an empty doll.

I could tell she was snapping out of her Zombie state though. It's all in her eyes. They no longer held that vacant, glassy look. Instead, they were filled with sadness. I don't know which look I prefer on her. When she's miserable, at least she's awake. But when she's awake, the gravity of her situation must hit her full on to look so pained.

She blinked once, and it was like the light bulb got switched on inside her head. I tensed momentarily, preparing for the worse. This is usually the part where she lashes out at me. But instead of hitting me or shrieking or at least jumping out of the ceramic tub, she just looked at me.

And in the smallest voice, she asked, although it was more of a statement, "You're really not her, are you?"

I didn't need to ask her who 'her' was. Because there's only ever been one girl on her mind. Faith.

I couldn't find my voice, so I just shook my head. And the damnedest thing happened. She actually looked _sadder. _I don't know how it's humanly possible, but she looked more morose than ever. It was like every muscle in her body just suddenly gave up. Like, if I hadn't been holding onto her, she would have slipped down the drainpipe. Like, despite all the cursing and screaming and tantrums, she had really wanted me to be this girl.

And I wanted to be her. I wanted to be Faith.

Then Buffy started to cry. It started out as just a small shaking of her body as though she was trying to hold her grief inside. But it became too much and the large tears began falling down her face and making their way into the bathtub.

Instinctively I reached up and wiped the tears away from her cheekbones with my thumbs. When the tears finally stopped, she grabbed my hands. It was the first time she touched me without it hurting or leaving a flesh wound.

"You look just like her," she remarked in that same, small voice.

I didn't know what to say. Should I apologize for not being who she wanted me to be? So I just shrugged instead and kind of grunted. Because I'm articulate and verbose. Hah.

She raised an eyebrow at me and dropped my hands. Then, faster than I could react to, her hands went to the bottom hem of my top. She lifted up my scrub top and the white tank top I was wearing underneath, revealing my stomach.

I fell backwards onto the damp tile floor, landing on my ass and back, but it effectively yanked the material out of her hands. I asked her what the hell she thought she was doing and her small shoulders slumped forward in the bathwater.

"You're really not her," she stated again.

And then she was gone. Her eyes fell out of focus and she retreated once again back inside her mind.

I toweled her off and dressed her in an fresh patient outfit and walked her back to her bedroom where she automatically crawled into bed on her own and shut her eyes.

She wasn't lucid for the rest of the day, but at least it made the remainder of my shift with her go easier. And far less confusing. I sat by her bed in a rocking chair and watched her as she slipped in and out of sleep.

I wonder where she goes to when she's not Here in the asylum. I wonder what this place Sunnydale is like. I'm sure anything is better than Here though.

At the end of my shift, I went to Dr. P's office to report today's progress. Buffy had taken some mighty big steps and I was sure the doctor would be ecstatic. She wasn't there though when I stopped by, so I left her a quick note and went directly back to my apartment after signing out of work.

When I got home, I had a couple of messages on my answering machine from Jarrod and one from my parents. But I ignored them all and made myself a microwave dinner instead.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**18 March 2002**

Today she painted me picture of Sunnydale.

When I got to work, a little late because my hair dryer decided it wanted to break on me this morning, Buffy was already out of her room and rummaging through the Arts and Crafts room. Eva had been watching her for me until I finally got to the hospital.

I had to beg the annoying woman who lives next door to let me borrow her hairdryer. She wanted collateral from me. I mean, fuck, I live next door. It's not like I'm gonna hold her hair products ransom or she won't know how to find them. I laughed in her face instead and inappropriately suggested we could take a tumble between the sheets if I busted it on her.

Really? Collateral? It's not like I asked to borrow her first-born child to perform a blood sacrifice…Dang, now I'm even starting to talk about the Occult like I'm Buffy or something.

So anyway, I was like an hour late for work today and even after all that groveling, the lady next door still wouldn't let me use her hairdryer. I mean, what a bitch that lady is. She'll get hers. I ended up tossing my hair up in a messy, wet bun. Which I _hate_ doing. If God intended me to wear my hair up, He wouldn't have blessed me with this mane.

Eva handed Buffy over to me when I finally walked in. I asked her how she'd gotten Buffy to come out of her room, let alone get her into one of the activity rooms. It scared me a little, to think that maybe Eva was better with Buffy than I was and that maybe Dr. Primrose would reassign Eva to her instead of me. But Eva shook her head and told me that Buffy told her she wanted to show me something.

I was crazy suspicious. Yesterday she was barely lucid and now she wants to show me something?

After Eva left, Buffy and I were alone together in the art room. Standing there, watching this blonde girl mill around, muttering to herself as she rummaged through the wooden cabinets, it was hard to believe that this was the same girl whom we'd all called The Zombie before.

Her eyes were now bright and determined. And her beautiful face, normally void of emotion, looked flushed with energy and life. This girl is truly beautiful. I wouldn't call her hot or sexy like the women I'm usually attracted to, but even without any make-up and her hair sticking out like she needs a hairbrush, she has this haunting, natural beauty about her.

I sat down at the picnic-style table in one corner of the humorless room. For being the `Art' room it still looks pretty cold and clinical. I asked Buffy what she was doing and at the sound of my voice, her back stiffened. I prepared for the worse, but she just kept wordlessly digging through the bottles of water-based paint.

I asked her if I could help her find something. She finally faced me, her eyes slightly tearing up. And in the smallest voice ever, she said she couldn't find the Yellow.

I hopped up, grateful to have a purpose. Then the two of us dug through the drawers and cabinets together to find some yellow paint. All the colors you could ever want, but no yellow.

I got frustrated after a while and asked why she needed the yellow paint at all. She had every other color it seemed; couldn't she just use something else? I guess my voice came out harsher than I'd wanted it to because she looked a little scared by my outburst.

I didn't hug her or touch her to console her and let her know I wasn't angry though. Although I wanted to. But I was afraid someone might walk in with me huggin' on her and take it the wrong way. So I just apologized with words.

She told me then that she needed the Yellow because the sun was always shining in Sunnydale.

I remembered that that's the name of her imaginary city. I asked her to tell me more about Sunnydale, but she shook her head like a stubborn five-year-old refusing to eat her vegetables.

"No," she said with force. "I want to show you," and she pointed to the blank sheet of paper she held in her hand.

I agreed and sat back down at the picnic table. Buffy took a seat beside me, but not exactly right next to me. There was still some space between us. She lowered her head in deep concentration and the tip of her tongue peaked out between her pale lips. Her hand looked awkward as she began to paint.

She had to paint because patients aren't given pens or pencils. Some nonsense about how they could poke their eyes out. Or mine. I watched her start out with the outline of a house. It had the little curly-cue smoke coming outta the chimney and everything. I tried not to smirk too much because it looked just like a toddler's art project that some Mom or Dad would put on their refrigerator even though it sucks.

She pointed and kind of grunted. "This is my house."

Then she started to make a bunch of stick figures standing in front of the house. A redhead in a skirt, a brunette with long hair, a brown-haired man, and a bald person.

When she finished the four figures, she set the paintbrush down on the table. "That's my best friend, Willow," she articulated. It sounded like it was taking her a lot of energy and concentration to use her tongue. Like it had gotten fat and lazy in her mouth over the past six years. "She's a witch."

"I thought she was your best friend?" I asked.

Buffy blinked, not really understanding my question. But suddenly the light bulb went on over my head.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, remembering the kind of people that live in her imaginary town. "You mean a _real _witch, like with black cats and pointy noses."

"Willow's nose is fine," Buffy huffed.

I grinned at that. This girl is pretty fun when she's not trying to tear my eyeballs out.

I asked who the other people were, bringing her back to the painting. I made a mental note to take the painting to Dr. Primrose when Buffy had finished. It might be helpful, after all.

Buffy pointed at the dark-haired man. "That's my other best friend, Xander."

"Lemme guess," I interjected. "He's a warlock or a ghost or something?"

She scowled at me and stuck her bottom lip out in the most adorable pout. Her lips aren't that full, not like mine at least, but the way her nose was all scrunched up and her eyes looked vaguely angry…It was absolutely adorable. And I'm not a squishy type of girl.

"He's a carpenter," she stated sourly.

"Oh, like Jesus." I know I'm an ass, but sometimes I can't help it.

Buffy started to stand up, pissed at my attempt at humor, I guess. "You can never take anything seriously, Faith," she growled at me. Her hands were balled into tiny fists at her sides.

"I'm _not _Faith," I called out.

She blinked a few times and then sat back down next to me. "I know," she sighed heavily. "If you didn't act so much like her, this wouldn't be so hard for me."

I apologized, but I don't know why. It's not like I'm purposely mimicking this girl, Faith.

Buffy cleared her throat and went back to the people on her painting. "That's my sister, Dawn."

I quickly wracked my brain. I had thought Buffy was an only child, but I didn't point it out. Instead, I asked about the bald figure.

"That's me," she said. I raised my eyebrow and then she reminded me that we hadn't been able to find any yellow paint.

Once Buffy got done talking about her stick people, I hesitantly asked about Faith. She hadn't painted her, and yet she seemed to be an important part of her life.

Buffy bristled and looked indignant before telling me, "She's not my family. She doesn't live in this house."

"What about your parents?" I asked. A mental image of Hank and Joyce Summers floated through my mind.

"They're divorced," Buffy told me. "And my mom…my mom died last year from a brain aneurism."

"But your Mom is alive!" I exclaimed. It made me a little emotional to imagine that kind, maternal woman anything but alive. Buffy squished her hazel-green eyes shut.

"But it can't be real," she said. "I remember. I came home. And she was on the couch. Dead."

I grabbed her hand and held it in mine until she finally opened her eyes again. I can't imagine what if would be like to come home from school or work one day and find one of my parents dead in the living room. We don't talk too much now that I'm here in LA, but I wouldn't want them dead.

Note to self: Call Mom and tell her I love her.

"Which world is better, Buffy?" I asked. "Sunnydale…or here?"

I think my question surprised her. None of the doctors have asked her where she'd rather be, I bet. They've all just taken for granted that this world, the one where she's not a superhero, but instead is just a mental patient, is the best thing for her. No one's given her a choice.

She looked at me, with those beautiful eyes, now so full of conflicted emotions, and she whispered in a raspy voice, "I don't know."

If my Mom had been there, she would have suggested creating a Pros and Cons List. She loves Lists. We would have sat there until dinner, in the Art room, constructing the master list with our paper and paints. But Buffy looked suddenly exhausted. So I led her back to her room instead.

She surprised me by holding my hand the short distance from the Art room back to her single room. We passed Dr. Primrose on the way there and the doctor gave me a knowing smile as we went by. I could almost hear her encouraging words: "I told you so. I knew she'd warm up and open up to you."

I tucked Buffy into bed when we made it back to her dorm. Channeling my inner Mom (who woulda thunk?), I neatly tucked the thin blue blanket around her slight form. She felt so small. So boney and fragile.

Buffy asked if I'd stay there with her until she fell asleep. She sounded embarrassed to have asked me. I nodded without saying anything else. I pulled the wooden rocker from the far corner closer to her bed. We sat in silence for a few moments, just the rhythmic squeaking of the wooden chair filling the void.

Buffy asked me to talk. Said she could never fall asleep without some kind of noise in the background. I didn't know what to say at first. Should I tell her about myself? Should I tell her a bedtime story? Finally, I settled on recapping one of my favorite sports moments from high school: when my volleyball team won State. Buffy's eyes were closed and a half-smile was on her lips as I regaled her with the final 15-9 score over Houghton until she finally fell to sleep.

Even now, as I write this, remembering my day at work, it strikes me as odd. Almost a miracle?

Who would have thought that the sound of my voice, which had once made her shriek and lash out like a feral animal would now be the one sound that could put her to sleep?

I had a brief conversation with Dr. P once I was sure Buffy was soundly out. I have another day off tomorrow and I'm kind of worried all the progress is gonna be for nothing. Last time I had a day off, she was totally in and out of it the next day. But I can't give up my freedom over this girl. I'm not wired that way.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

I can't believe I spent my night off looking for those nerds' hideout. This is seriously beneath me. I fight vampires. Demons. Hell Goddesses. _Not _three dorks who have nothing better to do than quote _Star Wars_, make freeze-ray guns, and waste my time.

My demon radar must have been a little off tonight. Maybe all that grease and oil in the air at the Doublemeat Palace has clogged my senses as well as my arteries. I should have sensed the demon a mile away; it gave off so many creepy vibes. But it just appeared out of nowhere, taking me by surprise. It kicked me in the stomach and I staggered backwards and before I could throw a jab back, it stabbed me with its…stinger?

Stupid demons with their bad habit of always trying to poke me. Do I _look _like a pincushion? Didn't they get the memo? I stab _them. _Not the other way around.

I don't know where the demon went. My knees buckle slightly and I brace myself against a parked car. Woah. That thing stuck me harder than I thought.

My eyes fill with a bright white light. Flashes of a scene. Lots of grays and blues and whites. Another white light. The side of the parked car.

I grit my teeth together. I need to get home. That demon could still be lurking around, just waiting to skewer me again. More white light floods my sight.

I'm sitting in a chair.

No. I'm standing next to a car. It's dark. The stars are out.

I'm back in the chair. People are sitting around me in folding chairs. I hear mumbling. Murmuring in my ears, but I can't make out the words. I can't feel my body.

The car again.

That damn demon must have poisoned me with its stinger. The ground seems to slip out from beneath me like I'm standing on a Slip-N-Slide, and I tumble to the earth. The paved road bites at my knees.

Then my body suddenly goes numb again. I'm not sure if I prefer the pain or the numbness. The road is gone. Replaced by the chairs again. I hear a sudden noise across the room. Unlike the murmuring voices around me, it's sharp and crisp. Someone's dropped something.

"S-sorry to interrupt, everyone."

I suddenly gain the use of my body again at the sound of her voice. My head snaps up to see her standing awkwardly in a doorway.

She looks nearly the same since the last time I saw her. Her hair is down, and the overhead florescent lights make it look almost sun-kissed. I guess they do let prisoners out of their cells. What do they call it? The Yard? She's dressed in light blue scrubs. When did prisons change from orange outfits to blue hospital garb?

I hear her words again inside my head: _"S-sorry to interrupt, everyone."_

What the hell is shedoing here? I told her never to come back. Never to bother me again. Never to interfere. And _NEVER to APOLOGIZE. I told her I'd KILL her if she tried to apologize. _

I fly out of my chair and towards the doorway where she's standing. Her face shows her surprise. Which surprises _me_, actually. What did she _think_ would happen the next time I saw her?

I pounce on her and we fall backwards, together, hard onto the tiled floor. The back of her head bounces off the ground, but I don't worry about a concussion. Putting her in another coma might actually be a blessing.

My hands are around her neck. My body is reacting on its own. I've never felt so _angry_ and full of _hate_ in all my life. I wonder if this is how she feels everyday. Her dark brown eyes stare back at me in shock, but it only makes me angrier.

"I told you _never _to apologize to me," I seethe, squeezing my hands around her neck with all my strength. Which oddly, doesn't feel like a whole lot. "You should have never come back, Faith."

Her brown eyes seem to bulge out of her head and her face goes red. Her short nails scratch at my hands, but I'm not about to let a little pain make me let go.

Two sets of strong hands grab my arms and tear me off of her.

"Let me go!" I scream, kicking and flailing my arms. "She's a murderer. She has to pay!"

She stares up at me from the floor, rubbing her throat where my fingers had been squeezing just a few seconds before. There's no anger in her face – just bewilderment.

I feel a stab in my arm, but I continue to struggle. What the hell is up with everyone stabbing me today? And then suddenly the rage is gone. Everything is gone. My body goes lax in the arms working to contain me.

And where there was once white, is now only black.

Black pavement. My knees sting from the gravel chips that tore through my thin jeans and have embedded in my kneecaps. Ugh.

I push myself off of the ground and brush the bits of pavement off of my sweater and pants. My arm still stings from that demon, but I don't see it or feel it anywhere. The lights are all off at the house I was spying on.

Shoot. It's nearly 2am. I need to get home. Dawn's gonna worry what happened to me. So much for my night off of work.

And I need to tell Willow about what just happened. What the _fuck _was in that demon's stinger? Because why the _hell_ did I pass out after it stabbed me, and why would I have had a dream about Faith?

Mornings are always hard. Some more than others. Especially when I got my ass handed to me the previous night. By the time I trudge down the stairs, Dawn has already left for school, and Willow is just about out the door on her way to campus. I must look like a train-wreck though, because she stops just as she's about to leave the house.

"Morning, Buffy," she chirps. "Rough night?"

I rake my fingers through my sleep-wild hair. "Yeah," I croak. "You could say that."

She hesitates, her hand on the door handle. "Did something happen?"

I wince, remembering the confusion of the prior night. "It's no big deal," I begin. "Just another unattractive demon that caught me off guard."

"Are you okay?" Willow worries. "Did you get hurt?"

I touch my upper arm, feeling the phantom pain from where the demon had stuck me.

"I'm okay," I decide aloud. "But the demon got away. I was wondering if you could help me research it? Figure out what it is, what it wants, and how to kill it? I'd do it myself," I explain, "but we all know I'm…I'm really not good at that kind of stuff. With the books."

Willow flashes me a wide, easy smile. "Of course I can help, Buffy."

"Just…no magic, okay?" I state with every ounce of carefulness. "I mean you can find it without magic, right?"

Her face clouds over a little bit with the reminder of her recent magic-related issues. "I can use books. And the Internet," she tells me. "Don't worry about me, Buffy. I'll be okay."

I nod. "I know you will. No big hurry, though. I know you're busy with midterms and things."

My best friend gives me another smile and a quick wave of goodbye before she stops herself again. "Oh, I almost forgot," she blurts out. "When you were out on patrol last night, Angel called."

"Angel? What did _he_ want?" I haven't talked to my ex since my mom died. When he held me, not speaking a word. It was what I needed at that moment, and I haven't really thought about him since.

Willow looks a little hesitant. "He, uh, wanted me to ask you something…"

I raise my eyebrow expectantly. This might take all morning the way Willow likes to babble.

"He, uh, was wondering if maybe, if you're not too busy, you might, uh, consider coming down to Los Angeles, to uh, maybe, if it's not too much trouble –"

I laugh. "Out with it already, Wills!"

She blushes slightly. "Angel wants to know if you'll…visit Faith in prison."

Faith. I immediately tense. I hadn't expected Willow to say that. I can't help it. It's like a subconscious response. You say "Vampire," I say "stake." You say "Faith," and my body screams "psycho murdering slut-bomb."

I just dreamt about her last night when I passed out from the demon attack, and now Angel calls about her. It couldn't just be a coincidence, could it?

The world around me shifts and I feel nauseous. It's like someone pulled the rug out from under my feet.

"_Buffy, Faith is here to see you."_

What? Who said that? I don't recognize the voice. And what happened to Willow? But more importantly, what happened to my _house? _

"Where am I?" I scream loudly, trying to thrash around. My wrists and ankles are bound tightly, restricting my movement, and I'm flat on my back in an uncomfortable bed. The halogen lights above me hurt my eyes like they're sensitive to the brightness.

Oh God. I'm back in that place. I thought it had just been a dream last night, but I can't have been dreaming while talking to Willow at the same time. I'm not _that _out of it, am I?

This has to be Faith's fault. I don't know how she did it, but she always finds a way to fuck with me.

I glance around the room frantically, trying to better gauge the situation. There are two beefy men in scrubs standing near my bed and a thin woman with glasses. Her brunette hair is tied up in a tight bun. She's wearing a long white coat like she's a scientist or a doctor.

"Where is she?" I bellow in an unflattering voice. Damn, where did that come from? It's like my throat is filled with gravel.

"Show her to me!" I demand frantically. I hate hospitals. Faith knows that. This has to be magic or that demon from last night. She must have paid the demon to mess with me. I can't really be here. What the hell is going on?

"This is all _her _fault that I'm here, I know it! I don't belong here," I insist to the emotionless faces that swim around me. "You have to let me go. How did she do this to me? What did she do? Why am I here? How is she out of prison? Faith!" I scream. "Show yourself!"

"That'll be all," the woman says in a crisp voice. And then one of the male nurses sticks me with a syringe and I'm sucked into blackness.

"_Buffy? Where did you just go?"_

It's Willow. I try to focus on her voice. Try to see her face. The darkness fades away and I'm suddenly back in the front foyer of my Sunnydale home. Her face looks concerned.

"I kept talking to you," she says, "but you just stood there like a statue?"

I hug myself tightly, feeling a little chilled. My arm hurts. But is it just leftover from last night's demon…or from getting stabbed with a syringe by an orderly at an asylum?

I should tell Willow what's going on. She's my best friend, after all. She wouldn't think of me any differently if she knew what had happened to me before I moved to Sunnydale, would she?

"It's-it's nothing Willow," I lie. "I just spaced out. But maybe it would be a good idea if you looked into this demon thing sooner than later."

"You're burning the burgers, Buffy."

"Huh, what?"

"I _said_ you're burning the burgers!"

The manager of the Doublemeat Palace pushes me out of the way and salvages the eight hunks of meat smoldering on the grill top with a flick of the metal spatula. He wipes at his high, balding forehead with a cloth handkerchief he pulls from his back pocket.

"That's the second time today, Buffy," he chides me, returning the hankie back to his rear pocket.

I drop my head. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's with me today," I apologize. "Maybe I'm coming down with something."

"Well, if you're getting sick," he blusters, "I shouldn't have you back here around all the food. Go give Darcy a break and take over for her at register three."

I nod obediently and remove the cloth apron we have to wear in the back of the restaurant to keep food grease from splattering on our uniforms.

"_Buffy, you've got more guests today." _

I snap my head up, suddenly alert for the first time that day. That didn't sound like his voice. "What did you say?" I demand in a crisp voice.

"I _said_, I hope you can turn your day around." He stands with his arms folded across his chest. "I'd hate to have to send you home with no pay today."

I blink a few times until I realize he's expecting some kind of response. I force a fake smile on my lips. "You can count of me, sir," I declare.

He raises his eyebrow and looks at me curiously before walking back to the fryer to check on one of the other high school-aged drones.

When I replaced Darcy at one of the front registers, my first customer is a middle-aged man and a white-haired woman. He's about a head taller than her. "Mom," he says to the elderly woman, "what do you want to eat?"

She peers up at the overhead menu and squints her eyes. "Go ahead and order for yourself, Richard. I haven't made up my mind yet."

"Ah, gimme a number three with no onions," he says, not looking at me, but looking at the menu hovering over my head. I hate that about this job. No one ever looks me in the eyes. But at least there's less of a chance that someone will recognize me. I look down at the cash register and punch in his order.

"_Buffy, your parents are here. Can you sit up and say hello to your mom and dad?"_

"What?"

"Sorry, I wasn't talking to you," the man states. "I was asking my Mom a question. She'll have a small burger and an iced tea."

I look back down to punch in her order. I could have sworn he said...

"_Buffy. I'm here with your parents."_

"What?" My tone is angrier than before. It's not his voice. It's _hers_. It's Faith.

"I-I didn't say anything," the man stammers, unnerved by my outburst. "A-are you okay, Miss?"

The room is suddenly very warm. I tug at the collar of my ridiculous uniform. "No, I-I think I'm just coming down with something," I explain weakly.

"Buffy?" I recognize the voice of one of the other girls working one of the cash registers. She's new. I think her name is Penny. "Do you need to take a break?"

What is that _awful _noise? Who's screaming? Oh God. It's me.

I see her. I see Faith. She's covering her ears with her hands.

The words echo in my brain although I'm not sure I even heard them. _I'm here with your parents. _ Oh God, what has that bitch done this time?

"Where are they?" I demand in what I hope is a commanding voice. This isn't the first time she's tied me up, after all. "What have you done with my parents, Faith?"

I'm back here again. Not at the Doublemeat Palace. I'm in the hospital…the asylum. And Faith's here with me.

But before I have time to sufficiently freak out, I hear the most beautiful sound in the world…my mom's voice. My mom…is alive?

"Mommy?" I call out in a choked voice. Where is she? I can't see her. Is this just another one of Faith's tricks?

"I'm right here, honey," she soothes in that painfully familiar voice. She's at my bedside, stroking my hair like she used to when I was little and had woken up from a bad dream. Is _this _the bad dream?

I almost start crying, but I have to keep it together. Faith is in the room, and I have to keep my mom safe from that psycho slut. I can't let Faith hurt her again.

"Has she hurt you?" I ask, looking into her face. God, I missed this. "Are you alright?"

"Sweetheart," she murmurs, "has _who _hurt me?"

How can she act so casually when Faith is free and _I'm _the prisoner now?

"Faith!" I cry out. "I won't let her hurt you, Mom." Not ever again. I should have never let Faith get close to her in the first place.

"You've got to get me out of here," I beg. "You've got to untie these straps." I struggle against the restraints, but I can't move. They're too tight again. "I can't keep you safe if I'm in here."

"Buffy." Oh my God. _He's _here too? Where am I? What is this? "We're safe, dear. And we just want you to get better so we can take you home with us."

"Dad?" I snap my gaze away from my mom's face and refocus on my father's face. His eyes look tired. "You're here? With Mom?"

He nods and I can't control my emotions any longer. The tears are warm on my face as they drip down to my chin. I wanted to be strong; I didn't want Faith to see me cry. If this is a nightmare, like I had originally thought, then why is my mom here? She's alive, and she's here with my dad, and they're not fighting.

I don't know what's going on. I want to go back to Sunnydale – back to where life makes sense – but I don't want to leave them. It hurt too much to lose them both the first time.

"I'm just going to go."

Faith. She's still here. She's been here the whole time. And I'm still strapped down to this fucking bed. I'm so frustrated, I scream until my throat becomes raw.

"Faith!" I yell out her name.

She's standing in the doorway of the room, her face full of shock and bewilderment. Why does she always look so surprised or scared when she looks at me? Where's the taunting? Where's the sexual innuendos? What happened to her bravado? She clearly has some kind of plan. Maybe she's planning on torturing my parents in front of me while I'm strapped down to this bed.

I know things were strained between us in Sunnydale from the start. I never completely warmed up to the idea of there being another Slayer, even when Kendra was around. I never took the time to figure out why Faith turned on us and joined the Mayor. And everything went from bad to worse, seemingly overnight. What did he have to offer her? How could she turn her back on her Calling? On _me_?

"Why do you _hate me_ so much?" I demand through the choking tears. "Why have you done this to me?" I feel my parents' warm hands soothing me, but it only makes me cry harder.

"_Buffy!"_

I hear the front door slam and footsteps beating up the stairs. I sit up groggily in bed. Ugh. I've got such a headache. My pillow is damp. Why does Dawn always have to be so loud?

My bedroom door swings open and my sister flies into the room. "Buffy!" she blusters again. "You'll never guess what happened at school today." She wrinkles her nose. "Ew. Did you _sleep _in your Doublemeat Palace uniform?"

I look down and instantly wrinkle my nose when I recognize those horrible red/orange stripes. Great. Now my sheets are gonna smell like French fries. I have a hard enough time scrubbing the stench out of my hair as is.

"What time is it?" I ask.

Dawn gives me a peculiar look. "It's four in the afternoon. I just got home from school. Aren't you supposed to still be at work?"

"W-what _day _is it?" I ask shakily.

"Buffy?" She says my name as though she's truly afraid for me. "Are you okay?"

"I-I don't know."

I close my eyes and try to remember what had happened that day. I remember waking up, making Dawn's lunch. Willow brought her to school since it was on the way to her own classes that morning at UC-Sunnydale. She was supposed to talk to Tara today if she didn't chicken out. I remember how many outfits she had tried on that morning to look nice, but not like she was trying too hard.

After everyone had left, I'd finished getting ready and had gone to work the lunch-shift at Doublemeat. And then…how did I get home?

"Buffy?"

I look up at the worried look on my sister's face.

"I'm okay, Dawnie. I'm just gonna take a shower and then let's figure out what to do for dinner.

"Okay," she says with hesitation.

"Really, Dawn, I'll be fine." I emphasize, pulling myself out of bed. "A shower makes everything better. Now go start on your homework."

After she leaves, I peel off my wrinkled, smelly uniform. I strip the sheets from my bed because there's no way I'm crawling into French-Fry after patrol tonight. Great. I still have to patrol tonight.

The hot water blasts away as much funk as it can. Maybe I really am getting a cold or the flu. I wonder if Willow's found anything about that pokey-demon yet. I know she hasn't really been able to dive into research because Anya has the Magic Shop all locked up, so she's had to find other sources to look up demon-background.

I wanted to ask her this morning during breakfast how the research was going, but she was so glow-y and nervous about talking to Tara that I hadn't wanted to spoil the nice morning with demon talk.

I lather my hair with fragrant shampoo and rinse the suds from my locks. My body aches in peculiar places. I don't know why my ankles and wrists should feel so tender. And it still stings where that demon stung me.

My knees buckle. I feel a wave of nausea. Oh God, not _this _again. I'm not wearing clothes.

"_Good morning, Buffy."_

I hear her voice ringing in my ears. My vision is blurry. I'm sure the doctors must have injected me with some sedative. I'm more powerful than the drug, but not powerful enough to snap out of my bindings.

I scream again. I don't feel entirely in control of my body. The sensation just comes over me and I have to scream. To let out some ounce of anguish and frustration in the only way I can.

Faith may think she's in control of this nightmare, but she can't break me. I can smell the fear radiating off of her as she rushes out of the room. I allow myself a smile and close my eyes. That'll teach her to interrupt my shower.

I just have to be patient and bide my time. I'll make her pay for this.

I bounce down the stairs, feeling abnormally cheerful. The sun is shining outside and the hot shower has made my aching muscles feel refreshed. After grabbing a snack in the kitchen, I wander toward the front of the house where I see Willow doing homework at the dining room table.

"Whatcha doin', Wills?" I chew on my bagel and peer over my best friend. Her head is down, buried in what looks like a children's picture book.

"Reading for this class I'm taking," she explains, still pouring over the book on the table. "We're doing feminist readings of children books." She looks up from the pictures. "Did you know how misogynistic _The Giving Tree _is?"

"Is that what you're reading right now?"

"No, this is _Where the Wild Things Are,"_ she says with a smile. "It's kind of ironic reading about monsters, actually," she chuckles. "Cause you know…they actually exist."

"_And they roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws."_

The ground shifts. I'm gone again. I'm tied back down to the bed and Faith is standing over me. The voices in the room are muffled. I think there are other people here, but I can't be sure.

The leather at my wrists is seriously chafing me. She says my name again. Not 'B', though, the full thing. I focus on her face. It's the only thing that's not blurry. That face that's haunted my dreams for so long. She looks nervous. Scared. Why does she always look so scared?

I'm not sure if my voice will work, but I try anyway: "Why do you hate me so much?"

"I don't hate you," she says simply, looking away.

I wasn't expecting that. A punch in the face maybe, but not that. She notices my continual struggle against the bindings at my wrists and ankles. She tells me that it's for my own safety, and it takes all of my self-control not to laugh at that. For _her _safety maybe.

Someone is touching my hair. That scent; it's so familiar. It's my mom. Oh God, what's going on? Is this the moment? Is this the part where Faith tortures her in front of me as payback for whatever twisted faults she's blamed me?

I feel fingers at my wrists and I tense. Are they being tightened? No! I'm being untied! Score!

"It's going to be okay, Buffy," my mom says. "Everything is fine." She must be freeing me! Just a little more and I can help her. I can protect her from Faith.

When my wrists are unbound, I sit up in bed. I see Faith standing too close to my mom and I reach for her. My hands wrap so easily around her throat like they were meant to be there. I squeeze with all my strength. She's scratching at my fingers and struggling, but I won't let go this time. I want to crush her windpipe. I don't want to hear that voice ever again.

There's screaming filling my ears. Who's screaming? It's not me this time. It's my mom. Why is she's screaming for Faith? She's ruining this for me!

I let go of her throat and shove her away. The coloring in her bright red face starts to return to normal and she's gasping great gulps of air.

"I don't know how you did it," I growl at her, "but you're not going to get away with it."

She stares at me, but this time that nervous-scared look I've been seeing in her eyes is gone. "I'm not who you think I am," she responds in a surprisingly strong voice. She stands up straighter. "I'm _not _Faith."

I can't believe she'd try that one on me. Who else could she be? Unless she happened to swap bodies again with some poor, innocent person. I'm not buying it though. I cross my arms across my chest. "You just _happen _to have her face then," I snort sarcastically. "And her body?"

I take a moment to sweep over her form. She looks good for having been in prison. A little meatier maybe, but then again she was a starving teenager the last time I saw her.

My mom starts to speak, but it's just muffled noise from somewhere in the room. I'm too focused on Faith to hear what she's saying. The girl in question takes a step closer to my bed, and I involuntarily flinch. Damn it. I'm supposed to be in control of this situation, even if my ankles are still bound.

Her voice drops to a low, threatening tone. Ah. There's my girl.

"So we have the same face," she growls. "And the same body, apparently. But what else? Do we have the same voice?"

Yes.

"Do we have the same haircut?"

Similar. A little longer now. And the hair's maybe a shade lighter, but that could just be from the sun.

"How about it, Buffy?" she purrs in an oozing, dangerous tone. "Does she do her make-up like me?"

No. The eyes and mouth are all wrong. The mascara and eyeliner are far lighter, applied like it should be – not like Faith's gothic mask. And the mouth. The same pouting lips, but she's wearing chapstick, not Harlot Red.

"What about my scent?" she presses. "Do we wear the same perfume?"

Perfume? Faith doesn't wear perfume, does she? She always smelled like tobacco and leather. This girl smells dainty, but not flowery. Sweet, but not overpowering.

I watch her mouth twist into that familiar leer. "Oh yeah, and does she work in _an insane asylum?_"

No. This can't be happening. I can't really be here. I can't _still_ be here after all this time. And if I am, then why would Faith be here?

I can't take this. I can't take this interrogating. If she's not Faith then who is she? My free hands twist in my disheveled hair. "I'm _not _crazy!" I shriek. "_You're_ the one who's crazy, Faith. You've _always _been the crazy one."

She steps closer. I can hear her heavy breathing. I can see her pulse twitch in her neck. I shirk backwards, afraid she's going to hit me. I only have my hands for weapons now.

Her mouth is close to my face, and I feel a shiver rush up my spine. "If I'm the crazy one," she breathes in my ear, "then why are _you_ the one tied up?"

"_Buffy?"_

Willow's staring at me.

"I asked if you wanted to grab lunch?" Her face looks worried.

I grab onto the back of the dining room chair and brace myself. I swallow down the bile creeping up my throat. "I need to sit down."

"What's wrong?" My best friend hops up from her seat and helps guide me so I'm sitting down. "Are you feeling okay?" she asks with concern. "You look a little white. I mean you're White," she babbles, "But normally you're tan. And you look like all the blood's gone out of your face."

I can't keep pretending everything's okay. It hasn't been for a while.

"Willow." I feel the tears stinging my eyes. "I have to tell you something…."

I told Willow everything. About how I've been losing time ever since the nameless demon stabbed me. About how I keep hallucinating about being in an asylum and Faith is there. And about how my parents had me institutionalized the summer after I burned down my high school gymnasium.

It was a short stay, all things considered. After I pretended to believe that vampires and other monsters weren't actually real, they let me go. I had to slay a demon named Rakagore who was disguised as one of the doctors and taking advantage of the female patients at the asylum. But I still had to pretend that all of it was nonsense for them to give me a clean bill of health.

What does that mean anyway? Clean Bill of Health? Is someone getting charged some bloated fee if I'm not healthy?

Anyway, Willow said she would use all her resources (non-magical) to get to the bottom of my hallucinations. She figured the demon's venom had some peculiar properties that were tapping into my darkest fears. Like when that one kid was making all our worse nightmares come to life.

She said that would explain why I was back at the asylum and why Faith would be charged with my 'recovery.' She laughed when I said that my Mom seemed to trust Faith. Said that was proof in itself that this was all just a nightmare.

I told Willow she was probably right. That had to be the explanation. But in the back of my mind, a little voice worried that maybe I wasn't actually hallucinating.

Maybe I was still in that asylum. Maybe all of _this – _Sunnydale – was the real hallucination.

But I kept that to myself.

_Oh God. I'm back here again. And so is she._

_And _where_ are my _clothes_?_

A second ago I was watching mindless television with Dawn, and now I'm in a bathtub.

I resist my initial urge to flounder about and escape from her view, because at least the bubbles are giving me some false sense of modesty. Although it's not like she hasn't seen all of this before. All of _me _that is. After all, she did steal my body. Who knows what else she did with it, besides have sex with Riley.

The way she's looking at me though, it can't be her. It doesn't _feel _like her. There's no Slayer tingles. But it's got to be her. She doesn't have a twin sister, does she? A twin who doesn't look at me with venom in her eyes?

"You're really not her, are you?"

She doesn't ask me who I'm talking about. I'm sure it's obvious to her by now. She just shakes her head.

A sudden feeling of dread rocks the pit of my stomach: If she's not Faith, then I never left.

I never left that asylum my parents left me at. I didn't fight a demon who was preying on innocent girls. I didn't meet Dr. Primrose, a former Watcher, who released me. No one released me. I never got better.

I wish she'd drain the bathtub and let me slip down the pipes with the dirty bathwater.

My body starts to shiver and shake despite the warmth of the bathwater. I cry. I've been doing a lot of that lately.

Her hands gently cup my face and she wipes away the cheekbones with her thumbs. I look at her face. It's uncanny. It's her. But it's not. Those dark chocolate eyes are unmistakable. But the way she's looking at me…I've never seen her look at me this way before.

I'm able to rein in my sorrow and I grab her hands, pulling them down away from my face. "You look just like her," I remark. I hardly recognize my voice. It's so small.

She shrugs at me in an inarticulate way and grunts. That grunt. Maybe she's tricking me. Maybe she _is _really Faith.

I drop her hands quickly and they fall into the tub, splashing up bubbles and water. While she's collecting herself, I grab the hem of her uniform and yank it up, revealing her taunt stomach. There's no scar.

I flutter my fingertips over her abdomen, feeling the soft, smooth skin. There's nothing. No trace of a scar at all.

It's really not her.

I'm really crazy.

"What the _hell _do you think you're doing?" she blusters at me, pulling away from my touch. She falls backwards out of her crouched position and onto the tiled floor.

My shoulders slump forward and I feel the tears threatening again.

"You're really not her," I state again.

And I'm really crazy.

I'm in a bed. It's not mine. But it is. But at least the straps are gone from my wrists.

I sit up on the stiff hospital mattress and run my hands through my hair. The strands feel like they're sticking out all over the place, and I stick out my tongue. I had been having such a good hair-day in Sunnydale, although it was nothing more than a vain waste of time since I'd had to put it back in a ponytail when I got to work. What I wouldn't do for a flatiron right about now. But at least this place is better than the Doublemeat Palace.

I look toward the door when I see a female staffer tiptoe in. Her skin is tan and her make-up is meticulously applied. She's dressed in blue scrubs and her dark hair is pulled back in a high ponytail. I bet she was having a good hair-day too until she got to work.

The woman smiles at me when she sees that I'm awake. I wonder if I'm supposed to know her name.

"Where's Faith?" I ask, not knowing what else to say. I suppose I could have said Good Morning, but I'm not exactly sure what time it is here. "I want to see her."

The olive-skinned woman gives me a kind smile. "You know her name isn't Faith, Buffy," she gently chides me.

I grimace. "I know," I respond automatically.

I don't _really_ know that she's not Faith; this still could be some elaborate trick of hers. But as long as I pretend to know the difference between reality and my imagination, maybe it'll keep me from waking-up strapped down to a bed.

"She just called me," the woman states as she looks briefly at the chart near the foot of my bed. "Asked me to look in on you and take you to breakfast."

I swing my feet out of bed and search for the slippers I remember being near my bed. They're still there. Maybe it's the next day. Maybe I'm not losing so much time anymore. But that also means I'm starting to stay here longer than back in Sunnydale.

"Where is she?" I ask, wringing my hands in front of me. I must really be insane if I'm asking to see Faith. I must really be crazy if she's my stability here.

"She's a little late for work this morning, but don't worry," the nurse gives me that toothy-grin again, "she'll get here as soon as she can."

The woman leads me down to the cafeteria. I'm not hungry, but I force myself to eat a few spoonfuls of oatmeal and a banana. After I'm finished, I ask her to bring me someplace where I can draw.

We can't have pens. Or pencils. Or crayons. What do they think I'm going to do? Carve a weapon out of crayon wax? Actually, I might if we were ever given anything sharper than a spork.

I'm digging through wooden cupboards in a room that's not the cafeteria or my bedroom when the girl who looks too much like Faith finally comes in. She thanks the nurse for watching me. I can hear them talking about me like I'm not in the room.

When my morning babysitter leaves the two of us alone, Faith sits down at a picnic-style table in the far corner of the room. "What are you doing?" she asks me.

I stop my actions, stiffening. Maybe this isn't such a good idea. But no, I have to figure out what's going on.

I can't find the colors I need. Why is there no yellow? I've got all the red and black and brown and green and orange and blue and purple that I need. There's multiples of all these colors, in fact. Who the hell used up all the yellow? Does someone have a Big Bird fetish in here? I can't do this without yellow. Can I do this at all?

"Can I help you find something?" she asks in a surprisingly gentle voice.

I'm on the verge of tears. This is so ridiculous. It's just one color. It shouldn't be such a big deal to me. I clear my throat. "I can't find the Yellow Paint." I'm pathetic. I expect her to laugh at me.

But instead of mocking me, Faith hops up from the table with her usual energy, and we dig through the cabinets on a search for the illusive color.

I watch her carefully out of the corner of my eye. She looks carefree. Unafraid. I've tried to strangle her twice, and yet here she is helping me find Yellow Paint. Maybe she's holding it all back so she can hurt me when I least expect it.

But I still can't find that damn color, even with her help.

"Buffy," she says in a shrill voice that takes me by surprise, "what's all this about? You've got every other color. Can't you just use something else?"

"I-I need the Yellow because the sun always shines in Sunnydale."

Her face falls and her arms and legs twitch like they want to do something her mind won't allow her to do.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you," she apologizes in that voice that's so painfully familiar. "It's not your fault this fuckin' place can't keep the art room stocked with basic colors."

Then we're awkwardly silent. Neither of us meant to show so much emotion.

"Tell me more about Sunnydale," she says, breaking the silence. "I want to know all about it."

"No," I say, shaking my head. I point to the white piece of paper in my hands. "I want to show you."

She gives me a feint smile. I can see the ghost of a dimple in her left cheek. "Okay," she agrees and sits back down at the table.

I come over to the table, my arms full of paints. The glass bottles clack against each other when I drop them onto the tabletop. I glance at Faith, but the loud noise doesn't seem to bother her. Maybe it's just that my ears are overly sensitive.

I sit down next to her, but not right next to her. I make sure to leave a little room between us.

My hands seem reluctant to work on their own. With a little stumbling, I'm able to open up a few of the paint bottles. The black, the brown, the red, and the blue. I pick up the slender paintbrush in my right hand. I'm right handed, aren't I? It feels unnatural.

I start with the outline of a house. I know it's not a masterpiece, but it'll have to do. I point at the paper and grunt. "This is my house."

I proceed to tell her about Willow and Xander, all the while gauging her reaction. If she's faking that this isn't the first time she's hearing about them, then she's the world's best actress. She makes a few jabs about witches and ghosts and Jesus and it upsets me. Even if I _am _crazy, it doesn't mean she gets to make fun of my psychosis.

I stand up angrily when I've had enough of her taunts. "You can never take anything seriously, Faith," I shoot out. My hands are balled into angry fists.

Her dark eyes narrow at me. "I'm _not _Faith," she snaps in reply.

Damn it. I did it again. I sigh heavily and sit back down next to her. "I know," I breathe sadly, "If you didn't act so much like her, this wouldn't be so hard for me."

"I'm sorry," she apologizes again in that genuine tone.

I go back to explaining the people in my drawing. When I've finished, she asks me why I didn't draw Faith.

Is this some kind of bizarre joke? Does she really want to know why she's not in this picture? _Because I _hate _you, you lying, deceitful, psychotic bitch!_

Instead, I just brush it off and tell her that Faith doesn't live in my house. Therefore she's not in this specific picture. _Plus, I hate you, you ugly, whoring, bad person._

She asks about my parents. When I tell them they're divorced and that my mom died, she seems to take offense.

"But your Mom is alive!" she exclaims. She sounds almost hurt by the alternative.

I close my eyes. I've got such a headache from all of this. Which world is real? Where am I supposed to be? She takes my hand in hers and I open my eyes at her touch. She's looking at me with those dark eyes again. I could drown in the depths of her irises.

"Which world is better, Buffy?" she asks. "Sunnydale…or here?"

Which world is _better_? Not...which world is _real_? Do I have a choice? Do I get to pick where I want to be?

"I don't know."

I want to tell her more. How my life is spinning out of control. How everything is such a mess with her gone. Everything's been wrong since she went to prison. I died and my friends ripped me out of Heaven. I'm having sex with Spike just so I can _feel _something. Willow overdosed on dark magic. Tara left. Xander left Anya at the altar on their wedding day and left us all.

I don't know how to deal with life without my Mom. I couldn't handle college, so I work at a fast food restaurant just to pay the mortgage and utilities and sometimes even that isn't enough. Plus, I don't know how to raise a teenaged girl. I barely survived _my _teenage years. No wait, I _didn't _survive…I died.

And even though I'm in an asylum _here_, maybe Sunnydale isn't all that great. At least I'd have my parents here if I could prove to them all that I was better. My Mom. I could have my Mom back.

I want to tell her all of this. But instead, I remain silent. I can't open up. I'm just so…. tired of it all.

She seems to sense my exhaustion, so she stands up from the table and leads me back towards my bedroom. I grab her hand, instinctively. There's too many strange faces looking at me and it makes me uncomfortable. I bet they all know who I am, yet I've no idea who any of them are.

As we traverse the halls, I recognize the main doctor who comes in and out of my room sometimes. The one with the kind eyes behind square reading glasses. She's smiling at us, and I feel a little indignant. What does she have to smile about? Hasn't she ever seen two girls hold hands before? I clench onto Faith's hand a little tighter and shuffle more quickly towards my room.

Once we're back in my room, Faith takes the time to help me into the twin-sized bed and tucks the thin blue blanket around me like my Mom used to do. _"Snug as a bug in a rug,"_ she'd always say.

When Faith turns to leave, I feel panic rising up in me.

"Can you…will you stay with me?" I ask in a rush. "Just until I fall asleep?"

She nods once and turns her back to me. I can hear the rockers of the wooden chair scraping against the tiled floor as she pulls the corner chair closer to my bed. She sits down and the furniture quietly squeaks. Soon the room is filled only with the rhythmic sound of her rocking back and forth.

"Can you…talk?" It's a ridiculous request, I know. But something about the sound of her voice gives me stability. It makes the indecision a little easier. Maybe because she exists both here and there, and I don't have to choose. I can just…be.

She clears her throat and it's silent for a moment more. But then she starts to tell me a story.

"So when I was a senior in high school," she starts, "my volleyball team made it to the State Finals. We were playing against this school, Houghton," she explains. "They'd won like every other year, and we'd never won before. So it was like a total David and Goliath kind of match…"

"_I want my burger cooked medium-rare. Don't fry the hell out it."_

"…So the setter, Stephanie, pops the ball up in the middle of the net and it's just kinda hovering there…."

"_And make sure you give me a Diet Cola. Last time I was here you idiots gave me a Regular."_

"…."

When I open my eyes again, the rocking chair is empty. It's the first time I've woken up here and not in my Sunnydale bed. Normally I wake up in Sunnydale and somehow make it over here.

The same nurse who woke me up…yesterday?...walks into my room.

"Where is she? I want to see Faith," I demand. I know I'm being rude, but I don't care. I'm crazy; I should be allowed to be impolite.

"Buffy," she chastises me in her light accented tone, "you know that's not her name."

"I know," I reply automatically again.

The short nurse brings me down to the television room. I slept past breakfast, apparently, so now I have to wait for lunch. It doesn't matter though. I'm never hungry anymore.

The television is always on. The words don't mean anything to me. It's just noise – and annoying noise at that. People's voices grating me, making me grit my teeth. I want to launch the TV through one of the windows, but the bars over the glass won't bend, even for me.

Bells and chirping noises that I'm sure mean something sound over the monotonous din of the television. Orderlies come and go with various pills that I obediently swallow. Red pills. Blue pills. It doesn't really matter because I know if I refuse, they'll just shoot me full of their drugs with needles or strap me down to my bed again.

The windows are slightly tinted to keep the glare of the sun to a minimum. But all it really accomplishes is to make it look perpetually gloomy outside. The sun could be warm and the sky blue and cloudless, but I'd never know.

Everyone is so disheveled. I haven't looked in a mirror yet, but I probably look just as frazzled and unkempt. The only ones that look put-together are the staff. The easiest way to spot us crazies versus the employees – doctors and orderlies get to use curling irons.

It smells. It smells so bad, I want to gag. I've never liked hospitals. Maybe this is why…Oh God…What if my subconscious _knew _I was in an insane asylum this entire time and that's why I've always hated hospitals in Sunnydale? I could have a gaping wound in my stomach and still have refused to go get checked out, no matter how much Giles might have insisted.

Giles.

Why would my subconscious create him and then let him leave? If Sunnydale really _is _just in my head, why would my brain have created such an imperfect world?

The doctors I see when Faith isn't here tell me I killed my mom and forced my dad to be absent because I knew they'd left me here at the asylum. God. It makes me sound like that kid on the _Twilight Zone _who wishes everyone to the Corn Field when they make him upset.

But that still doesn't explain Dawn. Sure, like one of the doctors pointed out, I had a need for Family. But why create such a brat like her? Why didn't I create someone who dotes on me? Why create a hormonal, kleptomaniac sister?

I haven't seen my parents lately. Maybe they're afraid of me.

Maybe they've give up on me. God damn it. I want to burn my nostril hair. How do these other people stand the smell? It's like dirty, plastic diapers that someone tried to hide with horrid potpourri.

I wonder if Faith has always been here. Maybe she's always worked here at the hospital, and she meant something to me, so then I incorporated her into Sunnydale. But it doesn't make any sense. I _hate_ Faith. I nearly killed her. She's everything in myself that I despise.

But I don't want to leave in case she shows up. Maybe she's just late to work again.

If I'm here, though, what's going on with my body in Sunnydale? Does my body lay comatose? Do I go through my daily routine like a re-animated corpse? _That's a laugh._ Because I really _am _little more than a Zombie ever since they tore me from Heaven.

What is life anyway than just one giant, methodical routine? Wake up, go to work, eat, rest, repeat. We're all Zombies. We're all just sleepwalking through life.

"It's time for your meds."

I look up, although I already recognize the voice. It's the surly-looking nurse who administers our medicine.

"I just had some," I reply. Wasn't it just a few minutes ago that she gave me the Dixie cup full of rainbow-colored pills?

"Well, it's time again," she states, looking impatient.

"What are you giving me this time?" I challenge. I don't want to go to sleep. I've been sleeping for too long.

"You don't need to worry about that," she tells me sternly.

"But I _want _to know," I reply, narrowing my eyes slightly. I know I'm pushing it, but something inside me is screaming to act. To rebel.

"And I'm not going to tell you," she snaps. "Just do what I say."

I stand up from my seat in defiance. The card table is the only thing separating us.

"Miss Summers," she says in a warning tone, "sit down and take your medicine."

And then I say one of the most powerful words a person can possess. A word that screams_ "I'm my own person and I make decisions for myself."_

"No."

"I'm giving you to the count of three."

"I don't need that long."

I push the table and it tips on its side. She's startled, just long enough that I'm able to run past her and out of the room. I can hear the uproar of cheering and clapping and unsettling shrieks from other patients as I make my escape.

I'm not that familiar with the layout of this building. I have a feeling it's the type of place where you could go missing for a few hours, though. Patients are always roaming the hallways without a second glance from the orderlies or nurses. Although none of them are running, like me.

I rush past a few startled faces as I put distance between the nurse and myself. They're dressed in blue, but I can't tell if they're patients or staff members. Either way, no one tries to stop me. I run past my bedroom, past the group therapy room, and past the arts and crafts room. I'm in new territory now, but I don't pause to take stock of my surroundings.

I suddenly find myself in a glass room with floor to ceiling windows. And unlike the rest of the facility, these windows aren't tinted. It's beautiful. The whole room is like a plant-less greenhouse. It's like I'm outside, but I can't feel the gentle breeze ruffle my hair. The sun beats down on my face, and I turn to it like a sunflower in bloom.

Beyond this cage of glass I see gardens filled with bright, vibrant-colored flowers. A water fountain sprays up toward the sky, drops of water splashing back down to a shallow cement pool of water. Lush green shrubs surround the gardens, and I suspect they hide an ugly fence that contains us in this place.

"There you are."

I spin around like a trapped animal. It's the nurse, and she's brought three bulky orderlies with her. I can see the dripping syringe in her hand. There once was a day when I could take down these four without breaking a sweat, but just that quick sprint out of the TV room has me winded.

There's an ugly leer on the nurse's unpleasant face. She takes a step toward me. "You have no one to blame but yourself," she spits, wielding the medical needle like the weapon it is.

Don't they know that if they stick me with that, I can't stay here? It's so hard to keep my mind focused and not slip back to Sunnydale. When Faith's here it's a little easier. Like I have a reason to stay. But if I'm drugged, I lose my control.

The three men surround me and their hands go to my arms. One has me around the waist.

"No!" I cry out, writhing and wriggling under their tight grasp.

She stalks closer and smiles with false sweetness. Without another word, without any preliminaries, the woman stabs my arm with the needle and plunges the stopper down; flooding my body with God knows what kind of sedative.

She's clearly evil. And it's my Sacred Calling to kill evil wherever I find it.

I blink hard a few times. My vision is blurred around the edges like a fog has rolled over my eyes. I feel the arms around my waist disappear and hands now grasp my wrists and ankles.

I'm floating. My brain and my body. Am I flying? No, I'm being carried back to my room, no doubt.

I struggle to remain conscious. I just wanted to see her. Why wasn't she here today? I wanted to tell her….

_I recognize my pillow. Mr. Gordo. No! I don't want to go back, yet. I want to stay. _

The hospital floors need to be polished. There's scuffmarks all over the worn tiles.

_It's morning. I smell breakfast floating in from downstairs. I must have left my bedroom window open last night because I can feel a gentle wind on my face._

No. The sun and wind is gone and has been replaced by water beating down on my face. I'm clothed. Not in my bed. In a shower stall. The patient uniform is sticking to my skin.

I have to go back. I have responsibilities. I'm the Slayer. And the Slayer-line is in prison. Willow's still rehabbing; she could have a relapse if I'm not there. We have to find Xander. I have to take care of Dawn. There's bills to pay. The mortgage. Health insurance. I can't just run away.

But I wish I could.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**19 March 2002**

Had the day off again today; I wasn't really able to enjoy myself though because I kept thinking about Buffy. It's not entirely my fault…she somehow managed to slip into my sub-consciousness last night. I had one doozie of a dream – and the Blonde One was the starring attraction.

I have the awkward misfortune of having sex dreams about people I spend a lot of time with. Friends, coworkers, and now apparently even a nut-job dressed in blue cotton gets to claim that special distinction. I don't think it's because I secretly _want _to have sex with everyone I've ever met…I'm sure it's something entirely different. But this was the first time I've had one of these kinds of dreams about a patient of mine.

It wasn't very detailed at all – none of my sex dreams usually are. Buffy and I were just spending time together…a normal day at the hospital. Then she asked me to brush her hair and things got a heap more interesting.

We're sitting Indian-style on her hospital bed, her back facing me, as I carefully brush through her golden hair. Then she stops me, taking the brush and my hand in her hands. I ask if everything is all right. I'm worried that maybe I didn't do it right. I grew up with all brothers and didn't have many close female friends, so that sleepover kind of stuff is foreign to me.

I just remember her turning and softly, yet forcibly pushing me back onto her bed. And I let her – which is weird, because I'm not much of a Bottom. She straddled me – her in that sky blue Henley top that makes her eyes look almost aquamarine and me in my shapeless blue scrubs.

Everywhere her body touched me felt on fire with the most heat pouring out between the apex of her thighs. I don't remember us getting naked or even taking off any clothes at all, but it was totally wild and exciting…soft cotton rubbing and sliding along even softer skin.

And just when it was starting to get _really _good – she was holding my arms above my head, her hands holding me at the wrists, her mouth breathing warm and wet on my neck – I suddenly woke up. I could have screamed. I tried closing my eyes and willing myself back to sleep, but I couldn't bring myself back to that point.

What made the dream all the more awkward was waking up this morning to my snoring boyfriend. Since he knew I had today off, he dropped by with a pizza and a six-pack late last night. It was a pretty uneventful night; we watched some TV, and I fell asleep with him rubbing my feet.

So I woke up this morning _crazy _horny because of the interrupted dream, but unfortunately for me, Jarrod doesn't exactly have the right…equipment to totally satisfy what I was craving. I mean, nothing against him…the kid tries hard, and he's hung like a horse, but let's be honest…sometimes all a girl really needs is a warm pussy wrapped tight and pulsing around her fingers or a sweet, seeping slit to dive face-forward into.

Ugh. There I go again, workin' myself up. And it doesn't help any that every time I've been Dating Miss Michigan lately to work off excess energy, those hazel-green eyes pop into my mind.

Even without the awkwardness of last night's dream, I'm not looking forward to going back tomorrow. The last time I had some time off and returned the next day, she'd reverted back to being The Zombie.

Oh yeah, and don't forget that last time I had to give her a bath, too. Okay, so maybe _that _part wasn't totally unpleasant, but it's always less…pervy if the person you're sponge bathing isn't totally comatose. Just sayin'.

Hah. It's a good thing I never bring this journal to work with me. If Dr. Primrose or any of the other head-shrinkers got their hands on this and found out I was even _remotely _having some X-rated thoughts about a patient, I'd be fired faster than you can say 'unethical patient-staff relationship.'

**20 March 2002**

I think Buffy's getting better. I'm not a doctor or anything, but she seemed actually…normal today.

Well, not at first though. I knew that me having another day off so soon might set her back again. I just didn't know how much. When I clocked in and changed into my uniform, I ran into Chris who was on his way out. He told me good luck and when I asked him what I needed the luck for, he just smiled sympathetically. My stomach didn't feel too well after that.

I demanded to know what had gone on during my day off, but he shook his head and insisted I'd be better off today if I had a clean slate with her. That didn't help make my stomach feel any better though.

When I saw Buffy, she was having breakfast in the cafeteria. She was unguarded, with no orderlies or doctors or patients near her—just sitting at the table by herself. Her blonde locks were slightly matted to one side of her face as if she'd fallen asleep with wet hair.

I grabbed a bowl of oatmeal and a banana and plopped down next to her. She didn't look up, which didn't surprise me. It's not movement that makes her alert – it's voices.

"Good morning, Buffy," I tried in my most cheerful voice (which admittedly when you've smoked as many cigarettes as I have, it's more gloomy than sunshine-y).

She slowly looked up from her soggy bowl of Wheaties. "You were gone yesterday."

It kind of unnerved me. I didn't realize she had any comprehension of time. At least not enough to realize I hadn't been there yesterday during my normal shift time. I dipped my spoon in my oatmeal and kind of slogged it around. I didn't know how to react. Should I acknowledge her observation? Change the subject? Lie?

"Yeah," I finally grunted. "It was my day off."

"I don't get days off," she mumbled sadly, still pushing her cereal around with her spoon.

She didn't look at me and it hurt. I didn't realize the hold she had on me until then. That I'd actually considered forfeiting my days off if my being away made her act this way.

I wanted to ask her more – specifically how she had known a day had passed and that I hadn't been there. I mean, if she hadn't been lucid for so long and had missed _6 years_, what did _one day_ matter to her? But before I could probe her with my questions, her hand hit the side of her ceramic cereal bowl. It tipped to the side, spilling out its contents onto the tiled floor.

She screamed out in protest. "I hate this body! It can't do anything right!"

I hopped up and grabbed some rags from the back kitchen and notified one of the janitors of the spill. When I got back to the table, however, Buffy was gone.

I swore a few hundred times under my breath and began to hunt her down. I hadn't been gone for too long, but this clinic is massive – multiple wings, multiple levels.

I tried to look as calm as I could as I briskly walked up and down the long corridors. I could have notified the head nurse that Buffy was MIA, but I didn't want Dr. Primrose to think I couldn't handle this assignment.

After what felt like a lifetime, after I'd broken out in a cold sweat, I finally found her standing in the Atrium. I recognized her blonde hair and her small form standing close to one of the glass walls.

When I got closer, I saw she had her palms pressed flat against the window and was gazing outside. She didn't look at me when I stood next to her, but I could tell she knew I was there.

"Six years," she mumbled.

"Feeling like Rip VanWinkle?" I tried to joke, relieved I'd found her before Dr. P had.

"As long as cars don't fly, I'm sure I'll deal," she grumbled in a bitter tone.

I didn't say anything, just remained next to her. The sun was out and it felt warm on my face. I turned when she talked to me again. "Wait. Cars _don't _fly, right?"

That made me laugh. It had been a long day already and I hadn't even had breakfast yet.

I asked Buffy what she wanted to do that day. She looked wistfully toward the glass windows and said she'd like to go outside. I wanted to tell her yes, but outdoor privileges were hard to come by. I'd have to get Dr. Primrose's okay and then she'd have to alert the support staff. If Dr. P agreed, it would probably be tomorrow at the earliest that I could take Buffy outside. And even then, she'd have to be confined to a wheelchair.

When I told Buffy that, her face fell. It made me uncomfortable how with one frown she made me want to break all the rules. I told her I'd put the request in that morning and we'd just have to see what Dr. P said. In the meantime, I suggested we could stay in the atrium. It was sunny and had a view of the gardens, so it was at least better than hanging out in one of the other startling white rooms in the hospital.

I paged Eva to bring some cards and board games to us. I suppose I could have left Buffy in the atrium by herself while I got some games, but I'd lost her once already that day.

Surprisingly, Buffy wasn't that familiar with most of the games. My family used to play them all the time. I guess I took it for granted that everyone knew the rules to Monopoly. When I asked her what kinds of things she'd done in her spare time, she looked at me like I'd grown horns.

"I killed demons," she told me with a wry smile. "There wasn't a lot of time for games."

We played board games for the rest of my shift. Buffy was really bad at the Trivia games, but she whooped me at kiddie games like Candyland. When my workday was done, one of other orderlies tracked us down. I'd completely lost track of the time and it felt good. Freeing. And I could tell from the smile on her face and the liveliness in her eyes that Buffy was feelin' it too.

I was almost sorry to leave work today. I knew I'd just be coming home to an empty apartment. Is it wrong when you'd rather be at work in an asylum, surrounded by lunatics, than be at home, alone with the television and your thoughts?

Maybe I should get a cat or something. Or some goldfish.

**March 21, 2002**

Fuck what a day. A day I'd like to forget, but one that I'll probably always remember. And maybe I'm glad of that too. Ugh! Why can't any of this be simple? I never had issues like this when I worked at the state asylum. Why did this girl have to enter my life? Why did _I _have to be the only person she would respond to?

My day started out with a visit to Dr. Primrose's office. I still hadn't heard back from her after I'd left the message about letting Buffy go outside with supervision, so I wanted to check in and make sure she'd gotten my request. Dr. P told me, kind of in a vague way that Buffy had had an 'episode' on my day off and that her outside privileges had been revoked.

She refused telling me what had happened, even when I pointed out I'd been the one responsible for all of Buffy's recent breakthroughs. Didn't I earn her trust to know what had gone down in my absence? What if she had gotten violent again? Shouldn't I know about that in case she came after me next?

Dr. P just stared grimly at me while I ranted and rambled, but in the end she assured me that I was safe. That Buffy wouldn't attack me – it had been an isolated incident – and that if I could get her to continue her good behavior for a week, then Buffy could go outside finally.

I didn't want to be the one to break the news to Buffy that she couldn't go outside yet. But maybe this was just the kind of carrot and stick incentive she needed to really start her recovery. Maybe she wouldn't have to be here for another six years. That thought made me feel kind of warm as I walked from Dr. P's office down to Buffy's room. Maybe I could actually help this girl get better.

The day was pretty uneventful after that. I tried not to look at Buffy in pervy ways after having that way inappropriate dream. To keep my mind off the curve of her mouth and the softness of her skin, I taught her how to play Dominos instead.

My grandma used to love playing Dominos with me when I was little. I remember her babysitting me when both my parents were at work and I was too young to go to school. I'd sit with her on her old-timey front porch with one of her famous date bars in one hand and a Domino in the other.

When she got too old and her eyesight started to fail her so she couldn't see all the dots on the Dominos that well, but was too proud to say anything about her difficulties, I'd let her believe that the 6 Domino was really the 5 Domino that she thought it was.

I miss that woman. She was more of a mom to me than my actual mother.

At the end of the day when I was checking out, I'd totally forgotten that I'd asked Chris to do some shopping for me. When he's not emptying bedpans, he's an art student at UCLA. I opened my locker, eager to peel out of my scrubs and into some fleece pants – comfort for comfort. On the top shelf of my locker was a paper bag. It didn't smell like dog shit, so I figured it was the stuff I'd asked Chris to pick up for me.

I could have waited until the next morning to bring it to Buffy, but I was too excited. Like a kid waitin' on Santa Claus. I don't even want to think about what would have happened if I hadn't decided to double back and go see her at the end of my shift.

I still get raging mad even just thinking about it. I wonder how long that shit had been going on. And the fucked up thing is that since Buffy had been The Zombie for so long, she wouldn't have even had the ability to tell anyone about the abuse.

I made my way from the employee lockers to Buffy's room with as much stealth as I could muster. I didn't want anyone to see me and think I was inappropriately lingering. When I came to Buffy's room, the door was closed, but I didn't really think anything of it at the time. I walked in without knocking, which in hindsight would have been _really _embarrassing if she had been changing her clothes or something. But she wasn't naked. In fact, I had to do a double take because I couldn't believe my eyes.

Yeah…I walked in on some heinous shit.

Buffy was strapped down to her bed, which initially surprised me, because she hadn't needed that in quite a while as far as I can remember. It was clear that she wasn't present though. Her face was emotionless and her eyes stared straight up at the ceiling. And there was a nurse in the room. I didn't know her name…we must have never worked the same shift or something.

Next to her on a cart was a rainbow of pills, multiple syringes, and some wicked looking scalpels and shit. It looked far more like the tools of a trained torturer than your friendly neighborhood nurse.

The nurse noticed my presence in the room and called out something lame like, "You're not supposed to be in here!" My body reacted on instinct. I cocked my left arm back, my hand balled up into a fist, and I totally knocked the snot out of that woman. I don't know what she thought she was doing, but I wasn't about to let it happen.

She went flying backwards, away from Buffy's bed, and landed hard on her shoulder. I've never punched anyone in my life. I don't think I could do again, actually. That fucking stuff _hurts _like a bitch! Now that I think of it, I should probably ice my hand with a bag of frozen peas or something when I get done writing this down.

I quickly undid the bindings around Buffy's wrists and ankles, the entire time talking to her, hoping she wasn't broken. And then her eyes did that creepy shifting in her skull thing, and I could tell she was back in the room with me and not back in her imaginary world.

And then she kissed me. One minute I'm seeing red and pummeling one of the staff and the next, Buffy's crashing her lips against mine. It took me a few seconds to realize what was going on, what she was doing, and then it was like my entire being went on autopilot. My body seemed to melt right into hers, like we were the final pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

Her mouth was warm and wet, her lips soft and utterly feminine. Her tongue darted into my mouth, making my knees buckle slightly. I hadn't kissed a girl in a while. And Buffy was no disappointment. I had forgotten how exhilarating, how soft, and how different it is from kissing a guy.

My arms instinctively tightened around her slight form, and I felt an unusual urge to protect this girl from anything that might hurt her. Before I realized what was happening, she was pulling me back onto her bed, and I was on top of her. She didn't say anything. She hadn't said anything at all since I'd entered the room. It was like my dream from a few nights ago was actually coming true. I may have been on top now when I'd been underneath her in the dream, but Buffy was still clearly in control.

My knee found its way between her upper thighs and she slightly moaned when my body came into contact with her own. I wanted her. I completely forgot about the unconscious nurse, the pile of drugs, and the ethnical line I was hurdling over at break-neck speed.

The door suddenly opened more fully, and it made a terrible screeching noise. In the doorway stood a burly guard who must have been on his usual rounds. I froze. Buffy froze. And he stared with disinterest at us.

I quickly jumped up off of the bed and told him everything that had happened….well not everything…I didn't try to explain why I was straddling Buffy. I don't know what he thought he saw, but I wasn't going to make up stupid excuses. If he saw us in the throes…me making up a lame excuse for straddling Buffy wasn't gonna change anything.

I must've knocked that bitch nurse out cold, because she was just starting to stir on the floor where she'd fallen. The hospital guard roughly scooped her up and shook her a little, trying to get her more conscious or something. When she finally regained her senses, she looked fucking scared. She knew she'd been busted and that her days as a healthcare professional were over.

I was gonna leave with them, to make sure that bitch got reported…and maybe smack her around a little bit more, but Buffy grabbed my arm and asked me to stay with her just a little longer. I looked at the guard and he said he'd take care of that squirming weasel of a nurse.

When the two left, Buffy asked me in a breathless voice why I had come back. Apparently she knew what the nurse was doing, so she had slipped back into her mind so she didn't have to really be there. I thought she might commented on the fact that we'd basically just dry humped, but that oddly wasn't on her mind. I was still a bit frazzled from that crushing kiss, so I wordlessly held up the paper bag I'd nearly forgotten about.

She kinda squealed. I mean, like really squealed with joy and clapped her hands before yanking the bag from my hand. She ripped into the paper like a kid at Christmas and her eyes got really big and suddenly very wet when she saw what was inside.

I asked if she was okay, worried I'd screwed up by getting her this small gift. She wiped the tears away with the backs of her hands and gave me the largest, warmest smile in the history of smiles, I think. She laughed and called me an idiot. Told me they were tears of happiness, not sadness.

I shrugged. Tried not to make a big deal of it, but inside my chest my heart felt like it was going to burst. Like I was the Grinch or something and my heart had just grown three sizes just from this simple, stupid thing.

I mean, honestly, who knew that Yellow Paint could make a girl cry from happiness?

**March 22, 2002**

Today was a good day. Buffy was granted outside privileges.

God, it's like someone doesn't want me to write an entry today. First my pen ran out of ink and then the lead in my pencil fell out. Hopefully I won't have to bust out a seagull feather and an ink pot to get through this.

I'm not sure why I even keep a journal, honestly. It's not like I have these self-important ideas about being famous someday and someone giving two shits about what I had to say, once upon a time. Seriously, I re-read some things I wrote years ago and it makes me blush…things that I look back on now as so unimportant, but at the time seemed monumental. I wonder how I'll feel about this job…about Buffy…when I've had time to reflect on it all.

I suppose writing has become part of a routine…part of my nightly ritual. Wash my face. Brush and floss my teeth. Write in my journal. If I had any more OCD tendencies, I'd be a patient at my own hospital. But if I miss a night of journaling, I don't know, I just feel…unsettled. Like at the end of every busy day, I need to unscrew the top of my head and let all of my thoughts and emotions that I've accumulated just tumble out of my brain. It's like shaking my skull as if it was an Etch-a-Sketch so I can start the next morning with a fresh slate.

I guess I started all this record-keeping in high school when my parents made me go see a shrink after some of my 'bad decisions' started to reflect poorly on them. All about outward appearances, those two. But I digress…

So yeah, Buffy got approval to go outside.

I dropped by Dr. P's office right away in the morning – even came in a little early after what had gone down last night. Not gonna lie - I didn't feel comfortable leaving Buffy there after seeing that fuckin' nurse mistreating her. But it's not like I coulda just rode up on my white horse and carried Buffy off into the sunset. I'm not a Prince.

When I got to the doctor's office, she had me sit down right away and she apologized that I had had to witness what had happened last night. She assured me that the nurse I had knocked around had been 'relieved of her position'...fancy talk for gettin' canned.

Apparently the whore thought she was getting some kind of revenge because Buffy had lashed out at her on one of my days off. The cocktail of drugs they'd found in the room would have made sure that Buffy _never_ got better.

I swallowed hard and just nodded. I wanted to know more details and was kind of worried that I would get in trouble for clockin' that lady, but I don't know how else I should have reacted when I walked in on what I did.

Dr. P asked me in a quiet voice if I had 'feelings' for Buffy. I wasn't sure what she was referring to, but I told her I just felt sorry for the girl. I mean, fuck. She was gettin' abused in the one place she should be safe from all the ugliness of the outside world.

Then the doctor gave me a coy smile and asked if I made it a habit to make-out with everyone I felt sorry for. I nearly swallowed my gum at that one. Fucking guard ratted me out. I sputtered something about how Buffy had kissed _me_, not the other way around, and that I'd just been overcome by the situation that I hadn't known how to react.

She looked down at a pile of papers on her desk then and stiffly nodded. "Be careful," she warmed me. "I don't want to see anyone in this hospital get hurt."

I nearly made a smart-ass remark about how she hadn't been doing a very good job of keeping Buffy safe, but instead I promised her that the last thing I'd ever do was hurt Buffy.

She looked up, her eyes steely. "I wasn't talking about Buffy."

This doctor never fails to surprise me. And that's a hard thing to do – I've just about seen it all. I don't know what she could be referring to though. How could Buffy hurt me? I mean, besides the I-want-to-kill-you-by-smashing-your-skull-repeatedly-into-this-wall. But we were way past that, right?

I didn't respond to the doctor's odd warning. Instead, I once again pressed to get Buffy outdoor privileges. Dr. Primrose finally, reluctantly, agreed. She said it was the least we could do after what had happened last night. She said she'd fill out the paperwork and get the appropriate people informed.

I wanted Buffy to get to go outside immediately, but Dr. P just frowned and said the precautionary steps were for Buffy's own good. After a traumatic experience like last night, she reminded me, it would be smart to wait a while before introducing her to a new environment.

I had to agree. After all, Buffy seemed pretty stable right now, but who knows if some unexpected surprise might set her off.

**March 23, 2002**

I'm feeling a little…out of sorts. A little…I don't know. Maybe if I write down what happened today, I can reflect on it better than just rummaging through this chaos of thoughts that's currently banging around inside my head.

So…I'll start at the beginning. The day started like any other day. We were in Buffy's room, playing a game of Clue, both of us chummy and sitting on her bed when Joyce and Hank came in.

I was kinda surprised to see them. It had felt like a lifetime since either of them had been in to visit their daughter and after what had happened with that psycho nurse a few nights ago, I figured Dr. Primrose would have wanted to keep them far away in case Buffy told them about the abuse and her parents sued the hospital for everything it was worth.

But they weren't alone.

The two walked in first, and then hiding behind Mrs. Summer's legs was a little girl who looked to be about five years old. She kept peeking out from behind Joyce, giving Buffy and me this shy little smile that would make anyone's heart melt…you know…if they actually _liked _kids. Which I don't.

Don't get me wrong. It's not that I _hate _kids. Some of them can be darn cute, especially when they're like 4 or 5 like that little rug-rat who came in with the Summers. But there's _so_ many reasons why having a dog is way better than a baby. Sorry…tangent.

Buffy greeted her parents with a warm smile, but didn't move from her seated position on the bed. I honestly felt a little uncomfortable like her parents had just walked in on us foolin' around, but I had to remind myself that we just looked like two girls tryin' to figure out if it was Colonel Mustard in the Billiard Room with the Lead Pipe.

It was all completely innocent, though…nothing that would have made her parents or anyone else suspect different. In fact, neither of us had brought up the fact that we'd kissed the previous night.

Buffy asked her mom who the little person was. Joyce stepped to the side so the pipsqueak could walk into the room. She looked bashful, but excited to be there.

"Buffy…" her mom said. "I'd like to introduce you to Dawn."

I looked over at Buffy to gauge her reaction. I remembered the drawing she had done for me – the one without the Yellow Paint. "Dawn" had been one of the key figures in the painting, but I hadn't realized she actually existed.

And the way that Buffy's mom was talking – the use of the word 'introduce' – told me right away that Buffy didn't know this tiny girl existed either.

I watched Buffy's eyes shimmer with tears as she gazed on the small, shy girl.

"Is…is she my sister?" Buffy asked.

Joyce gave her daughter a sweet smile. And then she said the words that I _never _expected. In the most gentle, maternal tone she told Buffy, "No, sweetheart. She's your daughter."

. . .

I didn't stick around for very long after I heard that. I didn't want to get in the way of the…the reunion. And it was just too much to process.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**March 24, 2002**

I got to bring Buffy outside today.

Well, I would have, if I didn't pay off Chris to do it for me. I'm sure it confused the hell out of him because just a few days ago I'd asked him to pick up that paint for her, and now here I am bribing the guy to take my shifts so I don't have to see her.

But she doesn't need me anymore, so why should I get stuck babysitting her all day? It's a bum wrap I tell ya, having to watch her crazy ass. I should be a ghost in that clinic. No one should know my name or my business, and I shouldn't give a shit about them either.

That's how this job is _supposed _to work. I empty bedpans and make up clean beds. That's it. And when I clock out, I'm supposed to get my life back until I check-in for work the next day. Don't need a fancy education to do this job. And I don't need to bring my job home and have it take a dump all over my personal life.

Sure it sucked to see Chris wheeling her around outside, knowing that it should have been me. After all, I only saved that chick's ass from being a vegetable the rest of her life. But I don't care how amazing she looked with the morning sun beaming off her corn-silk hair, or how her smile looked more brilliant than I've ever seen it. Good for her.

Not that I watched them from the atrium for very long.

Whatever. I'm not looking for a medal or some shit. I'm just here for the paycheck.

End of story.

In fact, I'm gonna talk to Dr. P. first thing tomorrow morning about getting re-assigned. I've played by that doctor's rules for long enough.

**March 25, 2002**

Today wasn't great. Worst day ever, you might even say. I really just want to crawl into bed right now but I need to get this out first.

So I visited Dr. P this morning. I went in with my speech all prepared: Yes, the clinic was paying me extra money to only look after one patient, but I'd never taken on this job in the first place to be turned into a glorified babysitter.

I mean, Buffy sees me more often than she sees her own doctors. She never has to go to group therapy anymore either. Was anyone even still following up on her delusions of being a demon hunter? Was she suddenly cured now so that she no longer needed treatment? And if so, what was she doing here still? What kind of asylum were these people running? A mental hospital or a summer camp?

But rehearsal and the actual performance are two different animals.

I asked Dr. Primrose to reassign me, and she said no. It wasn't quite that open and shut, but it might as well have been. She asked me to be patient with Buffy. She tried to inflate my ego or something by pointing out how much Buffy had improved under my watch. I couldn't really argue with that. But then again, anything was better than that zombie-fied girl she'd been before.

I tried asking her about the kid – about Dawn. The math wasn't making any sense to me – how could Buffy have been here for so many years, yet have a kid that old? Plus, she had had no idea she was a Mom.

How does something like that escape someone, no matter how out of it they may be?

Dr. P told me not to worry about details like that. Even though I'm Buffy's primary caregiver here at the clinic, apparently I'm not privy to that kind of personal information. That part stung. I was totally offended, which in hindsight, probably explains my behavior later.

Buffy was cheerful enough when I tracked her down. She'd already had her breakfast and was dressed for the day when I found her sitting in the TV room, reading a magazine. I grabbed that day's newspaper and sat down at the table with her and started doing a crossword puzzle.

She smiled broadly at me when she saw me and asked how my day off had been. It took me a second to figure out what she was talking about, but then I remembered I'd traded with Chris for the day. He must've punked out and told her it was my day off instead of telling her I was sick of hanging out with her.

I curtly told her my day had been fine, and then went back to my crossword. I could tell she was trying hard to strike up some kind of conversation with me, but I only grunted short responses and pretended to be more interested in my puzzle than her. I've never been good at word puzzles, but it gave me a reason to ignore her at least.

I know it was a childish thing to do, but I was steaming mad. I don't know who or what I was mad at…probably Dr. Primrose, but I just know I was seriously pissed off.

She kept talking and talking. I don't even know what about. And I just kept getting more and more inexplicably angry. The printed words on the newspaper seemed to blur together after staring at them for so long.

Finally, I felt her poking at me playfully, asking me if I was okay. And I lost it. I snapped at her and told her to leave me alone. I'm sure I said some pretty harsh and unearned things, but I can't really remember what I said exactly. I just know that it was mean and it hurt her feelings.

She jumped out of her chair and glared at me. She swore at me and called me "Faith" again, balling up her fists at her sides. "Why do you have to act like this?" she demanded.

I jumped out of my chair as well, not really caring about the scene we were causing in front of everyone. "That's _not my name!_" I yelled back.

She always seems to slip back into this behavior whenever she gets angry at me… mistaking me for that girl. I guess this "Faith" chick always found a way to piss her off, or something.

Her eyes narrowed at me and she crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't have to take this," she huffed.

And then she did it. I can't believe it, but she actually _chose _to become the Zombie again, right in front of me.

My stomach lurched when I saw her eyeballs rattle around inside their sockets. And then her body collapsed onto the floor in a heap, like a big sack of potatoes. It was like she'd completely abandoned not only her mind, but her body as well.

I've never seen anything like it. It wasn't like she'd fallen or fainted. I've seen people do that plenty of times. This was a whole different kind of animal.

Instead of stalking away like a normal person, she just totally turned herself off. It was like someone flipped a switch or a light bulb inside her head had been switched off. All of the light, all the life just suddenly left her body.

I quickly called for some nurses to help me with her; her body was totally loose like she had no muscle or skeleton holding her together.

Luckily, her vitals all checked out. She hadn't physically hurt herself, but her eyes failed to register when one of the nurses shined a penlight into her hazel-green eyes. It was one of the creepiest things I've ever witnessed…her pupils didn't react at all.

With the help of some of the nurses, I got her back to her room and got her settled into her bed. I paced around the room for a few minutes, not sure what to do next. Should I get Dr. P? Should I just hang out with her and try to get her to snap out of it with the sound of my voice?

Well, as it turned out, I didn't have to make any kind of decision on my own. Instead, I heard my name being called over the P.A. system to report to Dr. Primrose's office. Dude, it totally felt like I was getting called to the Principal's office.

I sat down in one of the chairs facing Dr. Primrose's desk, and before I could even open my mouth, I was suddenly being verbally attacked by the doctor: What did I think I was doing? Didn't I know how fragile Buffy's mental stability was? How _dare _I act like this…acting like Buffy had somehow wronged me and then sulking around like a wounded puppy.

I opened my mouth and closed it like a feeding fish. What the hell? What had I done to deserve this?

Then Dr. Primrose laid into me, calling me out because I'd pawned Buffy on Chris the other day. Why, she wanted to know, had I rallied so hard to get Buffy outdoor privileges only to later abandon her?

_Excuse me? Abandon her? _

I wanted to point out that Buffy was the one who'd left this reality, not me. But I didn't, cause I sensed I was this close to getting axed.

She reminded me that she had warned me about Buffy. Not to get too close. Not to become emotionally attached. That I'd just end up getting hurt.

I'd never seen the doctor so cold and curt with me. She was seriously pissed and told me my job was in jeopardy. She ordered me to take a few days off, without pay. And if I fucked up again, she told me, she'd blackball me – make sure I never worked in the healthcare profession again.

I walked out of her office after she icily dismissed me. I felt numb and shocked. Sure all actions have consequences, but I never expected _this. _All I'd done was raise my voice a little at Buffy. It's not like I'd physically hurt her or anything.

I walked to the employee locker room like a zombie myself, not looking up or acknowledging anyone. I changed out of my scrubs, checked out, and drove the short distance back to my apartment.

Now I guess I have the next few days to sit around and 'think about what I've done.' Fuck if I'm gonna do that.

**March 27, 2002**

Didn't bother writing yesterday. Just didn't have the motivation, and really nothing happened. I woke up late yesterday afternoon cause I didn't bother setting an alarm. And I did the same thing today, too. No real reason to get out of bed when you don't have a job to go to, after all.

Last night I made myself an oven pizza and fell asleep watching college basketball. I woke up on the couch around 3am with some informercial blasting on the TV. I didn't bother dragging myself to bed though. Just turned off the television and went back to sleep on the couch.

Today I didn't do much of anything. Didn't go outside at all. Didn't change out of my pajamas. Didn't bother to shower.

I know there's things I could be doing to take up my time. I should start running again or at least eat a little healthier, but I just don't have the energy lately. I just keep dragging my ass around, counting the hours until I get to go back to work. That's fucked up, right?

I know that may make me sound like a pathetic emo kid when I read this again in a few months, but I can't help it. I'm just stuck in some kinda job-induced funk.

I haven't called Jarrod to tell him what happened at work. He'd probably just want to come over and try to cheer me up. And I don't want to be cheered up. I'm kind of a masochist that way. I fucked up, so I deserve to be in a little pain now.

**March 28, 2002**

Just woke up from a fucked up dream. I'm still a little out of it, because it was so fucking weird.

I dreamt that I was hanging out with Buffy at the 24-hour diner where I used to spend time with all my friends in high school. Everything was as I remembered it – from the surly waitresses to the faux jukeboxes on the tables.

It was just the two of us, sitting at a booth across from each other. I ordered the blueberry pancakes and she ordered a burger. I remember wanting to hold her hands across the table, but was too afraid someone I knew might see us. So I just settled for the innocent way her feet would bump against mine under the tabletop.

When our waitress brought us our food, I dove into mine, immediately pouring a ton of syrup on my breakfast food, even though in real life I don't like the stuff. Buffy laughed at my enthusiasm, not maliciously or anything…it was the kind of laugh-and-shake-your-head kinda thing like, oh you…you're so silly, but I love that about you.

I told her to dig into her food, but she made a face after she bit into her burger. When I asked her what was wrong, she dropped the sandwich back on the plate and the meat fell out of the bun. It was completely uncooked. Just raw ground beef jammed between a sesame seed bun.

When I looked back up at her, blood started dripping out of her mouth. I panicked, worried she was hurt, but she told me not to worry about her and to keep eating. I looked back down at my food, but the syrup had turned to blood. I looked up again to say something to Buffy, but the words wouldn't come out when I saw that her eyes were completely blacked out.

She smiled vacantly at me and her teeth were yellowed and not all there. Then she leaned across the table and tried to kiss me. I jumped up away from her, and she stared at me, sticking her lower lip out in a pout that would have, in other circumstances, been cute.

My skin felt like it was crawling when I looked at her. Like every fiber of my being was telling me to get away from this girl.

She gazed up at me, her hazel-green eyes now replaced with black marbles, and noted sadly, "I thought you liked me."

I tried to talk again, but it was like my tongue just wouldn't work. Then, if all of that wasn't fucked up and scary enough, all this thick, dark red liquid started pouring out of her mouth. She continued to just sit there at the booth while all this blood gushed out of her mouth like her face had suddenly turned into a waterfall.

The room quickly filled up with the liquid and I tried to swim out the front doors. I've never been that good of a swimmer even though I grew up near the Atlantic Ocean. Was too afraid as a kid to go in there because I was convinced some bad-ass jelly fish would sting the bottom of my foot and I wouldn't be able to use my legs and I'd sink like a rock and drown.

So I'm trying to doggie paddle through this thick red stuff, but it's like trying to move in quicksand or something. I just keep getting stuck. And worst of all, it keeps trying to pull me back towards Buffy.

She somehow was able to float on top of all that thick, sticky liquid. She had her arms wide open like she wanted to hug me. Her bottom jaw was kind of slacked to one side like she'd broken her jawbone and she just kept saying, "But I thought you liked me," in one of the saddest, most pathetic voices I've ever heard.

When I finally woke up, I was drenched in sweat, my sheets tangled around my limbs.

I'm not someone who puts a lot of stock into dreams, but that shit was seriously fucked up. Obviously my subconscious is trying to tell me that Buffy's no good for me.

Or maybe it's the other way around. Maybe my brain is telling me that she'd be better off without me in her grill all the time. Either way, tomorrow I go back to work. Maybe I should tell Dr. Primrose about my dream, but I'm kind of afraid of her right now.

I know I'm gonna have to swallow my pride and apologize to Buffy.

I'm still not exactly sure why I exploded at her like that. Haven't really sat down to think about it, even though I've had all this 'off' time lately. I've always had a hard time self-analyzing the reasons for my actions or dwelling on the past.

**March 29, 2002**

So today was my first day back after being temporarily suspended. And it was yet another horrible day. Surprise, surprise.

I don't know if she was lucid while I was gone or not, but either way, Buffy still won't wake up for me. She won't snap out of her coma. I think I…broke her.

It's not like a normal coma, because she doesn't look like she's sleeping. If I let myself think about it, it's actually really disturbing. Her eyes are completely open. She's flat on her back, her eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling. They've got her hooked up to a bunch of monitors and IVs too. She looks like a patient for the first time. Like, she's truly sick.

She'll blink a few times, or her eyes will shift around sometimes like she's checking things out, but one of the nurses told me that doesn't mean anything in regards to her state of mind. The Zombie could walk and open and shut her eyes, too, she reminded me. Buffy's not even doing that now though. Her body has no movement, no rigidity. If you raise one of her arms and drop it, it just falls straight back down. I know because I tried it.

I spent a good portion of the day just sitting by her bed, talking to her. The sound of my voice has always gotten some kind of reaction from her before, but for whatever reason, it wasn't working this time. I tried reading to her, but after a while, my voice got really raw and achy, so I had to stop.

When I knew none of the guards or nurses would be doing their rounds in the hallway where her room is situated, I'd sit on the edge of her mattress and just stroke my fingers through her hair.

I don't know how to snap her out of it. Everything that's worked in the past isn't working now. Mainly, _me. _

I fucked up. I know that now. I shouldn't have freaked out just because it upset me to know that she has a kid. We all make mistakes, so why was I punishing her for something that happened so many years ago? And why would that even upset me in the first place?

And I know now that I really wasn't angry _at her_, per say. I was angry at myself. Angry that I'd let myself get so emotionally dependent on this girl, and angry at this hospital because she wasn't really getting any better.

Sure she wasn't the Zombie all the time anymore, but normal people just didn't do this kind of thing. You can't just decide you don't like the situation you're in and totally, mentally and bodily, check out. Fuck, I wish that were the case, but it's not.

I just wish she'd stop living inside her head long enough so I could apologize.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Buffy POV**

The sunlight streams unfiltered through my bedroom window and it makes me wince from its intensity. I gingerly sit up in bed, one hand pressed against my throbbing forehead. It feels like I drank too much the night before or someone bashed in my sinus cavity with a baseball bat.

When I begin to wake up more fully, I groan, realizing I'm still in my work clothes from yesterday afternoon. I eventually drag myself out of bed, change into the pajamas that I never wore, and wash my face in the bathroom. I gaze at myself in the mirror, letting the faucet water continue to rush down the sink. My reflection looks almost as haggard as I feel.

Leaving my bedroom and bathroom behind, I cautiously walk down the staircase and see a whirlwind of activity spilling out of the kitchen and into the dining room when I reach the main level.

Dawn nearly bumps into me as she skips out of the kitchen. "Morning, Buffy!" she chirps brightly.

"Is it?" I ask, still not feeling entirely focused. I was just manhandled by half an asylum, after all. And who knows how much time I've missed in Sunnydale this time.

I run my hand through my disheveled hair. It's damp as though I had a fitful sleep, but there's certainly no evidence that I was just unceremoniously dumped into a shower stall at a Los Angeles asylum.

Dawn shrugs. "Well, it's Saturday. Which means no school. So that's a good day in my book." She holds up a plate of food in her hands full of hash browns, bacon, and perfect-looking French toast. "And look," she adds with a wide smile, "Willow made breakfast."

I steal a piece of crisp bacon from my sister's plate, despite her half-hearted protests, and make my way back to the kitchen. _Breakfast? I didn't know Willow could cook that well?_

What I walk into looks like a scene from a Disney cartoon. Eggs hover in the air and crack, falling perfectly into open bowls beneath. A large wire whisk stirs the eggs while a spatula floating near the oven rotates between turning hash browns and flipping French toast.

And in the center of it all stands Willow, wearing an apron that looks as though it's never seen a kitchen.

"What. Is. This?" I ask, my eyes wide with surprise.

A wooden spoon drops somewhere and Willow looks at me sheepishly. "Uh, breakfast?"

"Willow?" I cry out, completely exasperated. "What happened to you going cold turkey with magic?"

All the kitchen items freeze their movements as if they know I'm talking about them.

"I just thought it would be nice if we all had a hearty breakfast together this morning," she states as if that's a good enough reason for me to forget all the unwanted drama magic has caused us lately.

I hang my head. I'm _so tired_ of being the voice of reason around here. Why can't I be the reckless one for a while? If I had known I'd have to grow up so quickly, I would have had way more fun at Hemery. Unless, all the fun I had at Hemery High is why I'm here. Maybe I created Sunnydale and its overwhelming responsibilities to punish myself. But that's ridiculous. This world is real. I can't have _that _vivid of an imagination, can I?

The kitchen utensils float back down to the countertops. "I'm sorry. I just thought –."

I interrupt my friend, holding up a hand. "No, Wills…it's okay. I appreciate the thought. I know we haven't done much as a family lately. Just...next time? How about we go out for brunch or have cereal or something instead of all this Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo stuff?"

She gives me a grateful smile, thankful I'm sure because I haven't blown up about her magic slip-up. She's been doing a lot better lately, but I don't want her to start falling back into bad habits – doing things the easy way and escaping into magic.

I sit down at the kitchen island and pick at a piece of French toast, while Willow starts to manually pick up the mess in the kitchen.

"Did you go on patrol last night?" she asks innocently enough, wiping the top of the gas range. "I don't think I heard you come in."

I grimace slightly and rub at my temples. "That's because I didn't exactly go out."

Willow stops her cleaning and looks at me, her eyebrows knit in confusion. "Did you…" she hesitates, "_leave _here though? You know…like before?"

I peek at my best friend through my hands. "I woke up in my Doublemeat uniform this morning. I must have been out of it all evening and night."

Willow stares down at the sponge in her hand. "What, um, what happened this time?" she asks. I can hear the curiosity in her voice.

I poke at a piece of bread absentmindedly. "Nothing big, really," I lie. "I was back at the hospital, but it was all pretty uneventful. Maybe I've been dreaming this whole time," I reason aloud. "Maybe it's just a slayer dream."

My redheaded friend looks thoughtful. "I'm hearing a lot of 'maybes.' But," her voice goes up slightly, "maybe that would explain why Faith is there, too."

I don't point out to her that "Faith" doesn't respond to that name where I go and that she's never met before. Or that it feels far too real to be a dream.

"Maybe," I say slowly.

A knock at the front door interrupts our conversation. I hear Dawn yell that she'll get it, followed by the impatient patter of teenaged-size feet. I swear that girl walks like an elephant some times.

"Are we expecting someone?" I ask.

I hear a sharp squeal come from the direction of Dawn, and I rush out of the kitchen before Willow can utter a word. When I quickly make my way to the front foyer, my eyes are greeted by the sight of Dawn's gangly arms thrown around a surprised, but pleased figure.

Tara.

I can't help but chuckle at the sight. "Dawn," I gently chide, swatting her away. "Give Tara some room."

The blonde Wiccan's light laugh is like music to my ears. "It's okay, Buffy," she reassures me. "Nothing says 'I missed you,' quite like strangulation."

I feel myself genuinely smile. It feels almost foreign on my face. "Well in that case…." I playfully shriek and wrap Tara up in a tight hug of my own. "It's really good to see you," I murmur in her ear. She gives me a quick squeeze and then I free her of my tight hug.

"H-hi, Tara," I hear my best friend stammer as she walks out of the kitchen. The apron is gone, and she looks (magically?) more fixed up than when I last left her.

Tara ducks her head bashfully and tucks a loose strand of honey blonde hair behind her ear. "Hi, Willow."

Dawn and I look between the two girls as if watching a tennis match. There's an awkward silence for a moment, but then Tara clears her throat. "I, uh, came over because Willow had told me you were a little under the weather these past few days. We're, uh, going to the university library to see if we can't find out more on this demon that stung you."

Willow nods in agreement. "Yeah, Tara was nice enough to volunteer to help me research. Not magically," she points out. "The campus library has a surprisingly thorough demonology section. Well," she laughs nervously and I can tell she's about to go on her babble train, "maybe it's not _that _surprising since we live on the Hellmouth."

I can sense Dawn's eyes on me. "Is everything okay? Why is this the first time I'm hearing about this?" she asks in a faintly hurt voice.

I lay a hand on my sister's arm. "It's nothing to worry about, Dawn," I assure her.

She glares at me with her hands on her hips. "Why am I always the last to know?" she complains. "Tara doesn't even live here anymore and she knows more than me."

I glance briefly at Tara who looks like she wants to melt into the woodwork. Poor girl probably didn't miss _this _at all.

"Dawn." I say the one syllable name with a threatening undercurrent. She thankfully takes heed of my subtle warning and drops the topic.

"So," I state, forcing my voice to be bubbly and cheerful again, "you guys are off to the library then, huh? Any plans afterwards?"

A becoming shade of pink flushes Tara's cheeks and I'm sure my best friend's face is probably as red as her hair, too.

"We, uh, we really haven't talked about that," the blonde witch murmurs, "but maybe we'll get a drink afterwards at the coffee shop if it's not too late?"

Willow beams. Dawn beams. I beam. We all beam for ice cream.

Willow grabs her bag and my two friends eagerly leave the house, making their way toward UC-Sunnydale, and leaving me alone. Strike that – leaving me alone with _Dawn._

My teenaged sister looks expectantly at me when Willow and Tara have gone.

"So….What are you doing today?" I ask her innocently. "Have any homework to do?"

She gives me a sour look. "Why didn't you tell me some demon hurt you?"

I knew she wasn't going to drop this. "I'm not _hurt_, Dawnie," I insist with a disgruntled sigh. "It's…it's a long story."

She folds her arms across her chest and gives me a glare. "I've got all day…"

"You might, but I don't," I quickly quip. "I've got to work second shift today, so I should start getting ready."

I scamper up the stairs toward my bedroom, but not before I hear Dawn's angry huff. Yeah, so I'm being avoid-y girl. I know I should probably tell her what's going on with me. But how would I even broach that topic?

_Gee, sorry I've been a little distant lately, Dawnie, but I've been hanging out with Mom and Dad in another version of this world where vampires don't exist and everyone thinks I'm crazy. And by the way, you don't exist._

Cause we all know how well Dawn finding out she wasn't really real went last time. That one went over like a lead balloon.

I lock myself in my bedroom. Dawn could follow me up to my room and bang on the door until she got her way, but luckily she knows that I'm just as stubborn as she is. We share the same blood, after all.

I actually don't have to be at the Doublemeat Palace for a few more hours, so I decide to experiment something instead of getting ready for work. I lie down on top of the comforter on my bed and stare up at the plaster ceiling. It's not a remarkable ceiling, but it's different than the ceiling at the asylum. I stare hard, until my vision becomes blurry, trying to picture what the other world's ceiling looks like.

Maybe my bed can act like a portal. And if I concentrate really hard, I can will myself back and forth between these two worlds. I'm not entirely convinced my plan will work. After all, I seemed to be shuttling back and forth without really trying before – on patrol after that demon stung me or at work losing myself to minimum wage slavery. Maybe I just have to be really bored and desperate. Or really smelly.

Check, check, and check.

After a few minutes of continuing to stare and clearing my mind of all thoughts, I feel different. A shift. The air stirs around me. I can feel my body moving slowly, like I'm gradually sitting up in bed. I seemingly hover, missing the softness of my mattress beneath my body. Instead, if feels as though the bed has been replaced by a plastic chair. The warmth of Sunnydale leaves my face and I get a whiff of recycled air.

I concentrate harder, not wanting to slip back into the serenity of my Sunnydale bedroom. I need something to grab onto. Not something physical necessarily, but an anchor of some kind.

"Good morning, Buffy."

The gravely, but feminine voice tethers me back to her reality like a kite and its string.

The world begins to refocus and I find myself seated in the asylum cafeteria seated near Faith's look-alike. It worked. I can't believe it worked.

Yet another morning. Why is it always morning? Why do I always seem to miss the night? I can't remember the last time I slayed something. I'm starting to get itchy. Or else I just really need a shower worse than I thought.

In front of me is a mushy bowl of Wheaties. Great. I should have eaten Willow's French toast when I had the chance. The food in this world is much worse.

"You were gone yesterday," I say flatly.

She looks slightly shocked by my words, like she can't believe I noticed she wasn't there. Well, yeah I notice. They keep shoving medicine down my throat when she's gone.

I can tell she's struggling with a response, but finally she settles for a Faith-like grunt: "Yeah," she says. "It was my day off."

Must be nice. Between Slaying, Doublemeat, and being crazy, I never get a day off. I don't even realize I'm talking aloud.

I look up and see her smiling sympathetically at me. I should be used to this view by now, but whenever I see Faith's doppelganger with anything but that familiar sneer on her face, it takes me a few seconds to adjust. It's a nice smile though. Very nice. Dimples and everything.

Wait.

Doppelganger.

A sudden idea throttles me. What if I'm _not _crazy? What if I've just been jetting between two realities? What if I'm still a Slayer here? And what if she's a Slayer too, but she just hasn't been called yet because I haven't died and Kendra hasn't died and her parents just decided to name her something different.

Maybe I still have my strength, but I feel so weak because of all the meds they have me on. I look thoughtfully at the spoon in my hand. I should be able to bend this. Not with my mind – with my grip. I test my theory, but I end up knocking my cereal bowl and it slops onto the cafeteria floor.

I let out an exasperated scream. "I hate this body!" I protest. "It can't do anything right!"

In a flash, Faith's twin is on her feet and scooting back toward the kitchen, probably to get a mop or something. When she's out of view, I hop up from the cafeteria table and briskly walk out of the dining room.

I know it's pretty shady of me to take off without her, but I need to take this rare opportunity to further test my theory. If I've really just been jetting between two realities, I'm sure the Powers-that-Be have a reason for it.

No one seems to care that I'm wandering around on my own. I carefully tread into the television room where everyone seems riveted by some show predicting this year's Oscar winners. I wonder if the same movies were released here. If so, I feel as though it's my duty to warn them about the Britney Spears movie.

I eyeball the metal bars that cover one of the windows in the lounge area. If my theory is right – if I'm still a Slayer – I should be able to bend these without even breaking a sweat. I don't think they've given me any medication since yesterday when the nurse and her goons pumped me full of sleepy-time drugs, but who knows what they put in my system while I sleep.

Looking to make sure no one is watching, I try to bend the bars over the windows, but nothing happens. Nothing. Either my theory is totally wrong or they've juiced me up with too many drugs. My strength is gone. It's like the Cruciamentum all over again.

The memory of my eighteenth birthday causes me to pause. If the Council tested me like that on my eighteenth birthday, what kind of tests might they throw at me as I got older? As far as I know, I'm one of the oldest slayers ever…Giles never discussed additional tests beyond the Cruciamentum, but then again he never warned me about that trial either. And even though I say I don't "work" for the Council anymore, it's not like they've just given up on meddling with my life.

Maybe this is all just a test. Maybe that demon from the other night was sent to poison me into believing I'm crazy and helpless. Maybe this is another one of the Council's "tests" of my will and my brain power. Maybe…

My bevy of thoughts stops when I find that I've wandered into the clinic's atrium. It feels so different here than in the rest of the hospital. Without the whisper-white walls and the blasting air conditioning competing with the Los Angeles weather, it feels almost human. I hesitate for a while, just pressing my hands against the warmth of the wall to ceiling glass.

I lose myself to the heat of the sunlight for a few moments, but suddenly I sense my orderly standing behind me. It's not the same tickle I feel when Faith's around, but I definitely feel something when she's in the same room as me.

"Six years," I mutter to no one in particular. Six years in this place while the rest of the world passed me by.

"Feeling like Rip VanWinkle?" she jokes behind me.

"As long as cars don't fly," I counter, "I'm sure I'll deal."

There's a pregnant pause and I turn to her. "Wait. Cars _don't _fly, right?"

She laughs and I feel my bad mood instantly lighten.

"So what do ya wanna do today?" she asks me. Good question. What do I _want _to do today? I could always try to go back to Sunnydale, but I really don't feel like working in fast food today. Or ever.

I turn back toward the windows and stare at the gardens outside. Maybe if I can get outside, I can find a way to get out of this hospital. I could try to track down Giles. If this isn't a test, and I'm the Slayer, why hasn't the Council tried to break me out of this place yet? Why would they want the Slayer to be locked away for the past six years? Maybe I still did die in this reality and Kendra was called, only she wasn't killed by Drusilla in this world.

Or maybe I'm really just crazy and there's no conspiracy at all.

"Buffy? You still with me?"

"Oh, yeah," I stumble. "I was just thinking is all." I turn and give her my winning-est smile. "Do you think we could go outside today?"

She slightly winces at my request. "If it were up to me, I'd say yes," she says in an apologetic tone. "But I have to get Dr. Primrose's okay and then she'd have to tell the support staff so they didn't think I was kidnapping you or something. If I can get the Doc to agree though, it probably wouldn't be until tomorrow at the earliest. And even then," she notes, "I'd have to push you around in a wheelchair once we got outside."

Drat.

"How about this though," she counters. "Since it's so nice here in the atrium, how about I rummage us up some cards or board games or something and we can spend the day out here? I'll page one of the other orderlies to bring us some games."

I nod and she walks a few steps away to call one of the other hospital staffers. I'm not that into board games, honestly, but at least it's better than flipping burgers.

Board games remind me of Anya. The first time my mom asked Xander to babysit Dawn, he brought over his new girlfriend and a stack of board games. Anya loved board games. Especially ones with money transactions. And the game of Life. She always tried to sell her children and husband at that end.

Poor Anya. No one has heard anything from her since Xander…left. I wonder where she is right now. I wonder where Xander is, too. Maybe in this reality without me to botch things up, they're both happy. Or maybe she's still a vengeance demon and he's just as awkward as ever.

My orderly comes back with a cheerful smile and a stack of games in her hands, pulling me out of my thoughts. She motions toward a small table and the two of us sit down, opposite from each other. She sets up the Monopoly board and has to explain the basic rules. She seems a little surprised that the rules aren't permanently ingrained in my brain.

"So before this place," she asks me, rolling a dice on the colorful board. "What kinda stuff did you do for fun?"

I raise my eyebrow at her question. "I killed demons," I say with a smile. "There wasn't a lot of time for games."

She gives me a smile. "Yeah…demons."

We play a few more games. I'm not that good at the trivia games, because apparently even in this reality I'm not book-smart. But I totally kick her ass at Candyland. I was already to the Gumdrop Mountains before she'd even gotten a good start.

I think this little bit of sunlight is good for the both of us. Even though we're only sitting in the atrium, the warmth of the sun cheers me up. It seems to have a positive effect on her as well. I like the way the sunrays reflect against her smooth, shiny hair. The light bounces off her soft waves, bringing out the natural highlights in her dark brunette hair.

She makes me laugh. Which is good, because I feel like I haven't done this much laughing or had this much fun in a long, long time. Probably not since…honestly, not since my mom died.

It makes me wistful though. If I could have this much fun with this reality's version of Faith, what went so terribly wrong in Sunnydale?

I wake up and find myself still at the clinic, and I'm by myself for the first time. Usually when I wake up here, one of the orderlies is usually in the room ready to usher me down to breakfast.

I wonder if it's contraband to have a watch, or a clock, or a sundial. It would make things a whole lot easier so I know how much time has gone by when I wake up in this bed.

I'm not alone for very long, however, when my orderly walks into the room with a metal tin in one hand. "Morning, Buffy," she smiles.

Is it weird that I wish she would just slip and call me 'B', once in a while? Somehow when she says my full name it just…sounds wrong…or makes me feel like I've done something wrong like when your parents use your full name to let you know you're in big trouble.

"What's that?" I ask, referring to the small metal box.

"Dominos," she says, noisily shaking the tin. "You know how to play?"

How to play dominos? Doesn't everybody? Don't you just stand them up on one end next to each other and then knock them all down? I didn't realize there were rules. When I say as much, she laughs a deep chuckle that itches the base of my spine.

She takes me to the cafeteria for a quick breakfast – oatmeal and a banana – and we come back to my room to settle down. I'm apprehensive that she might have to bath me again, but apparently since I'm not running marathons here, I've little need to shower everyday.

She teaches me the rules to Dominos. It seems pretty easy enough, just matching up the dots with other dots that resemble it. We talk idly about nothing in particular while playing games and before I realize it, her shift is over and it's time for her to leave for the day.

When she's gone, I ponder what to do with myself. I could try to go back to Sunnydale, or I could hang out here for a little longer. It's nice to just be alone for a while, and my bed here at the hospital isn't all that uncomfortable.

But I know I should probably get back. Who knows what's going on with my body right now? I'm probably still in my bedroom, having slept through who knows how many days. I'm probably fired at the Doublemeat, and as much as I hate it there, we need the money.

I lay flat on my back in bed and stare at the ceiling. Time to go back.

The more I do this, the easier it seems to get, shifting back and forth between these two worlds. I don't know if I should be proud of my accomplishment or worried for my sanity. When the world refocuses, I realize I probably should have just stayed in bed.

It's night and I'm in a cemetery. But at least I'm not wearing my Doublemeat uniform. That's an improvement, at least.

A male voice shatters the silence of the evening: "So we meet again, Slayer."

I exhale deeply. I'd recognize that voice anywhere. "Spike."

I turn on my heels and glare at his undead form. He's wearing his usual black jeans and red t-shirt that hugs at his chiseled torso. "What do you want?" I ask, placing my hands on my hips in a defiant way.

He stalks close to me, his lips twisted into a cocky leer. "You've been avoiding me, pet."

My body stiffens when he reaches out with a single, pale digit and trails his finger down the length of my arm. "Don't flatter yourself," I spit out, jerking my arm away from his marble touch. "I've just been busy. My world doesn't revolve around you, you know."

He sniffs and pulls at his belt, hiking his dark denim jeans up slightly. "Or just scared that you wouldn't be able to control yourself around me."

I roll my eyes. "You know, I really thought for a second that I might be crazy; but knowing the extent of your delusions actually makes me feel better about myself."

He cocks his head at me and knits his brow in confusion. "I don't follow," he says questioningly.

I shake my head curtly. "It doesn't matter," I sigh. "You don't need to know what's going on in my life anymore."

He slowly crosses his arms across his broad chest and it almost looks like he's pouting. "If you're in some kind of trouble, Buffy…" he trails off.

"I don't need your help, Spike. I've never needed your help," I return icily.

The undead man narrows his eyes at me. "Fine, Love. But don't think this is over."

I release a frustrated noise and turn on my heels again to dramatically storm off. But apparently I'm a little _too _dramatic because I walk straight into a low-hanging tree branch. Face, meet Tree.

I hear a muffled voice off in the distance. I can't quite make out the words, but I can tell it's a woman's voice even though it has a lower register.

When I open my eyes, I'm back in my room at the asylum. The fluorescent lights above my bed are turned on, telling me that it's either night or overcast outside.

I thought I was escaping one bad situation, but I'm not sure if this is any better. Next to my bed is a metal hospital cart, piled with pills, syringes, and scalpels. And there's a woman lying in the corner. Her back is to me, but from the angle of her body, I can tell she's unconscious. Or dead.

Oh god. What happened here?

Faith's twin is hastily unfastening the binds at my wrists and ankles. Why is she here? The sky is dark outside – shouldn't she be home and not back at the hospital?

"You're gonna be okay, Buffy," she murmurs. Her dark eyes look slightly panicked. "I'm here now. Not gonna let anything bad happen to you."

What happens next is a surprise to us both. When my ankles and wrists are finally free, I'm overcome with a wave of unexpected emotion and leap up towards her. My mouth crashes into hers and suddenly I'm kissing her. And even more startling, she kisses me back.

Her lips yield to my insistent, clinging embrace and I feel her surprisingly solid arms wrapping around my waist, her hands pressing into the small of my back. My brain is screaming: _I'm kissing a girl. I'm actually kissing a girl. And she looks just like Faith._

Before I let my brain do too much of my thinking, I'm pulling her back onto my bed on top of me. She doesn't say a word, but willing follows my lead. Her toned figure hovers above me momentarily and she looks hard into my eyes. Her eyes – Faith's eyes – stare at me, flashing with emotions.

Her knee finds its way between my thighs and I can't suppress the moan when I feel her sinewy muscles press into my sex. With her still in her scrubs and me in my patient garb, there's hardly any textile between us. I'm sure she can feel the heat pouring from my core against her knee.

The door suddenly crashes open and a large hospital staffer stands in the threshold. His wide shoulders seem to take up the entire space. I freeze, realizing he's just caught us making out. She freezes too. I'm sure this kind of thing – kissing patients – isn't exactly kosher.

She quickly hops off of me and in a breathless voice tells the guard that the woman unconscious on the floor is a nurse who'd tied me to my bed and tried to drug me.

The lumbering hospital staffer roughly grabs the groggy nurse from the floor. When he pulls her up, I immediately recognize her as the woman I'd rebuked a few days ago.

I stare at her in wonder. "Y-you…what were you trying to do? Why did you try to hurt me?"

Her dark blue eyes are scared. "I only did what I was told," she insists.

Did what she was told? Who would tell her to do this to me? The hospital doctors? An unknown enemy? A more chilling thought comes to mind however…The Council.

"I should go with them and let the doctors know what happened," Faith's doppelganger says in an uneasy voice.

A sudden sense of panic overcomes me and I grab her arm before she can leave me again. "No!" I call out. My reaction startles her and she stares at me questioningly. "I mean…would you, uh, just stay here a little longer?"

She looks away from me and raises her eyebrows at the guard. "I'll take care of this, don't worry," he reassures us both with a curt nod toward the nurse still in his hold.

When the giant staffer and my would-be-assailant exit my room, I can feel the orderly's dark eyes on me.

"W-why did you come back?" I ask, feeling a little breathless from all the recent activity. Not to mention one of the best kisses I've ever experienced. And let's not forget her, uh, knee.

I really hope she doesn't ask me why I kissed her, because I honestly have no idea. Can I just chalk it up to Spike frustrations? Head trauma? Luckily that moment has seemed to pass and instead she thrusts her arm out in front of her, a brown paper bag clutched in her hand.

"Is that for me?" I can't help the tiny squeal in my voice. I've always loved presents.

I shred into the paper and my eyes go wide and my breath catches in my throat when I see what's inside. It's a single bottle of yellow paint. She remembered. I can't believe she remembered.

I blink a few times, not surprised by the wetness gathering at the corners of my eyes. My watery eyes don't go unnoticed by her either. "Buffy, are you okay?" she asks in a worried tone. "Fuck, I'm sorry if I did something wrong. I just thought…I just thought you'd like it."

I wipe away the accumulating tears with the backs of my hands. "Of course I'm fine, you big idiot," I laugh, giving her a wide smile. "Haven't you ever cried because you were really happy?"

She shrugs and grunts in a way that's just so Faith, and it makes me ache a little. I don't think I've ever gotten such a thoughtful present from anyone before.

"So…I, uh," she stammers, running her fingers through her loose hair. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow then?"

I nod at her, unsure of what to do. Do I hug her? Shake her hand? Do _something_ for saving me from the nurse? I'm not used to this kind of thing. Not used to being the one who gets saved.

She walks backwards toward the door and gives me an awkward wave. "Right. So…until tomorrow."

I watch until she closes the door behind her. And even though I was just nearly assaulted, I feel strangely…safe. I climb into the uncomfortable twin bed, close my eyes, and go to sleep.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Buffy POV**

She brought more games with her this morning; this time she brought "Clue." I kind of rolled my eyes at that one, but it's not like there are too many other entertainment options in this place, and I'm still not able to go outside. She told me she'd talked to my doctor, Dr. Primrose, and that it would be at least another week before I could go outside. So I guess my escape will have to wait for another day.

If I could just get away from this place, I could track down Giles. Giles always knows what to do. Maybe he'll know why I'm here. But I'm half afraid to find him because if he doesn't exist or if he doesn't know who I am, then I guess I must just be crazy.

We haven't talked about what happened last night – not about the woman who tried to attack me or about the unexpected kiss. It's probably better this way, though. I know it's completely unethical for the two of us to kiss. And I can't explain _why _I did it, either. Before last night, I'd never kissed a girl before. Sure I've wondered about it, though. It's hard to have a lesbian for a best friend and _not _think about what it would be like.

Plus, she's an _extremely _attractive girl. I might have loathed Faith, but that didn't mean I couldn't admire how naturally beautiful she was. It made me envious, actually. I'll never be considered sexy or beautiful. Cute, yes. Adorable, sure. But never sexy. And it killed me that it just came so _effortlessly _to someone like Faith.

But my orderly isn't Faith, so I can't hate her for it. I can only admire how beautiful she is, even in her shapeless hospital uniform and her long, tumultuous hair thrown back into a messy ponytail. And kissing her wasn't exactly _unpleasant. _Her lips were seductively soft against my own, and she held me with a nonthreatening strength that was protective and nurturing at the same time. Truth be told, I wouldn't be against kissing her again.

"When I'm not here," she asks me suddenly, her eyes shifting as though she's uncomfortable directly addressing me. "What do you do? I mean, is everyone nice to you? Do you get along with the other patients?"

_When you're not here, I go home to Sunnydale and fight demons._

But I don't say that. I wiggle a little on the bed, feigning that my legs are starting to fall asleep beneath my awkward sitting position, buying myself some time. "I, uh, you know…watch TV, read a little…I mostly keep to myself, I guess."

She nods and her eyes look back down at her game notes. She doesn't bring up the topic again.

It's kind of touching that she seems to care about me even when she's not here. I guess I shouldn't be surprised…what with the Yellow Paint and her knocking out that nurse. Her hand looks kind of puffy and bruised. I don't ask about it though; I know those bruises all-too-well. They're the ones you get when you punch someone in the face.

We're still playing "Clue" when my parents come into the room, unannounced.

I don't bounce out of the bed to greet them because I'm pretty cozy playing this game with my friend. If they wanted one-on-one Buffy time, they should have called ahead. I'm a very important person, after all.

I notice for the first time that my parents haven't come empty-handed. Standing behind my mom's legs is a small girl. She's got stick straight brunette hair. Her bangs look freshly cut and uneven like someone trusted her to cut them herself. Why are my parents bringing a kid to visit me?

"Who's that?" I ask bluntly.

My mom steps to one side so the little girl can walk into the room with the rest of us.

"Buffy…" my mom starts, "I'd like to introduce you to Dawn."

My brain goes on hyper-drive at the mention of my sister's name.

_Dawn?_

_Dawn exists here, too? Why has no one told me about her before? Why is this the first time they've brought her here? And why did she just 'introduce' me to her?_

I stare at the small, bashful girl. She gives me a lop-sided half-grin in greeting and I feel my insides melt a little. It's not that I really like kids, but Dawn was never this small. Not really…only in my memories that the monks gave me. Maybe this world isn't so bad after all if she really got a childhood – a real one, not an imaged one.

"Is…is she my sister?" I ask.

My mom gives me a gentle smile. "No, sweetheart," she corrects me. "She's your _daughter._"

Holy fuck.

Faith's twin makes an uncomfortable noise in the back of her throat. She hops off the bed and scurries out of the room. I'd love to follow and escape this situation too, but I have too many questions.

I stare between my mom and this tiny person. She looks nothing like me. She's brunette. There's no way. I didn't have a baby. I'm not a mother. What kind of cruel joke is this?

"Explain," I say in a brisk tone. "How…."

My dad sits down in a chair next to my bed. "Dawn" steals away from my mom and hops up on his lap. She grabs onto his hand with her tiny ones. "After your Freshman Year –," he begins.

" – At Hemery," I interrupt.

"At Hemery," he nods and continues. "You…well, you disappeared for a little bit with that boy Pike."

I turn my intense stare away from my dad when I hear my mom rustle nervously near the front door. "Sweetheart, do you remember Pike?" she asks hesitantly.

Pike. Yes. Of course I remember him. He was like the original Scooby. After burning down the gymnasium, he and I had gone to Las Vegas and taken on some pretty intense vampires in Sin City. After his feelings had been hurt because I'd prioritized Slaying over Him, he left. Typical boy.

Instead of elaborating on my memories of Pike for my parents, I simply nod and my dad continues his story: "You left us for a few weeks," he says, recalling my Las Vegas trip. "And when you came back, you were pregnant."

"With Pike's baby?" I gape, unbelieving. I never had sex with Pike?

"That's what we've always assumed," he shrugs. "You never really talked about him after you came back. We'd hoped that maybe when you got better you could tell _us _what happened."

"You guys sent me here," I say, in awe. "Because I was 16 and pregnant."

"Buffy, please don't be angry with us," my mom pleads from her position near the door. She teeters slightly on her high heels. "It wasn't like that at all," she insists. "You…you were talking about vampires and demons, and you burned down the high school gymnasium."

I look at the girl on my dad's lap. She seems completely oblivious that we're talking about her. She looks more interested in her pint-sized, pink saddle shoes. "Should she be in here while we're talking about this?" I say through gritted teeth.

My dad looks cross. But I don't care. He's a total dick – in _both_ realities it turns out. I feel like berating him for every shitty thing he did to me, my mom, and Dawn. He stands up and picks up the small brunette girl, hefting her to one side.

"We'll just be out in the hallway," I hear him murmur to my mom. He shuts the door quietly behind him when they leave.

My mom shuffles uneasily by the doorway before coming to sit down next to me on the bed. I can literally feel the tension rolling off of her in waves as though she doesn't know how to interact with me, as though just sitting next to me is taxing. And that's when it hits me: She's not my Mom.

This woman doesn't know me. She hasn't known me for over six years. This is the woman who abandoned me because I was getting a little too difficult. And sure, my mom in Sunnydale didn't have it all together, and sure, she did kind of kick me out of the house once upon a time, but she never, ever gave up on me like this woman did.

I can't handle this. I can't talk to her about this. I was never pregnant. Wouldn't I be able to tell something like that? Wouldn't I _feel something_ when I looked at that little girl? Like, "Oh, yes...I'm your mother…I can totally sense it."

No. This isn't really happening.

I know it's a pretty crappy thing of me to do, but I leave my mom sitting there. Well, I don't _technically _leave…but when I open my eyes, I'm back in my Sunnydale bedroom. I hop out of bed and bound noisily down the stairs to find Dawn sitting in the living room, watching TV.

I've never been so happy to see that whiney little brat. I bound over to her and stand in front of the TV. She gives me an annoyed look. "You make a better window than a door, Buffy," she states.

Her eyes narrow when I don't move or respond. "What? Why are you staring at me like that? Stop it," she squeaks, slightly shifting on the couch. "You're giving me the creeps."

I bounce over to the couch, plop down next to my sister, and give the tall teenager a tight hug. "I'm sorry for everything mean I've ever done to you," I gush in her ear. "I'm just so happy I didn't give birth to you."

I feel her pat the center of my back. It's hesitant, but I recognize that my hug was totally unexpected. "Uh, and I'm glad you didn't give birth to me either," she deadpans. "Cause no offense, but you're seriously short."

The two of us sit on the couch in silence for a while, just watching TV together. "Don't you have to go to work soon?" she asks me.

I nod, not tearing my eyes away from the TV. It feels so good to just sit. To just be. But I should probably go back to the hospital. I need to explain things to my orderly. She seemed almost as upset about "Dawn's" appearance as I did, for some reason.

I focus hard, but I don't go back to the asylum. I don't know _where _I am, in fact. I can't tell if this place has walls, or a ceiling, or even a proper floor. I'm in my patient outfit from the asylum, but there's nothing in this space. Just…darkness.

"Well this isn't right," I say aloud to no one in particular.

When I finally come to, the sun is warm on my face, and I suddenly realize that I'm outside, getting wheeled around the asylum gardens. I don't dwell on the fact that I was just in a purgatory-like space. I'm _free! _Dr. Primrose must have agreed to let me have outdoor privileges finally!

I quickly turn my head to smile at Faith. I bet she's the reason I was granted early release. But…it's not her. It's some guy wearing light blue scrubs. "Who are you?" I ask.

He looks down at me, looking slightly startled I guess that I'm talking to him. "I'm Chris."

"You work at the hospital?" I ask, giving him a suspicious look.

"Yeah," he nods.

"I'm in LA?" I ask, although it probably sounds like an insane question. But, _hello_. Insane girl here.

The oddity of my question doesn't seem to bother him. "Uh huh," he says, carting me around a cobble stone pathway. The wheels of my wheelchair jostle against the breaks in the bricks. This guy's not very forthcoming with the information or the conversation skills. I wonder why he got stuck with this job and why my usual orderly isn't here.

"Where's…."

"It's her day off," he cuts me off, sensing the content of my question. "You should probably see her tomorrow though."

"Oh," I sigh. I turn back around and face forward in the wheelchair. I guess escaping will have to wait until yet another day.

Chris doesn't say anything or try to strike up any kind of conversation as he wheels me around the luxurious-looking gardens. It's nice; it's a nice view, that is, but I feel like an idiot being carted around like this. My mind might be injured, but my legs are just fine.

"Do I really have to stay in this chair?" I ask, turning my head slightly so I can bat my eyelashes at him. I throw a half-smile in for good measure, too.

I swear I see his handsome face flush slightly. "Sorry," he coughs uncomfortably, "it's the rules."

I twist my lips into a slight frown, but nod, understanding. At least I'm not strapped down to the chair.

"So…" I start, struggling to find something to talk about to fill the awkwardness. I've never been good with silences unless I'm with someone I feel totally comfortable around. "Have you worked here long?"

He grunts a bit. "Yeah, long enough."

"Do you like it?"

I can feel him shrug behind me. "It's okay. Pays the bills," he says curtly. "The staff here is pretty cool too, I guess."

"Yeah," I agree. "Everyone seems pretty nice. Minus that one nurse that tried to kill me," I note thoughtfully.

He clears his throat. "Yeah, I heard about what happened. Uh, sorry about that."

I shrug in the chair. "It's okay. I'm used to people trying to kill me."

We come to a stop when he parks me in a sunny spot. There's a water feature lightly splashing in the background and the wind is slightly gusting, but warm on my skin. "Is this okay for a while?" he asks.

I nod my acquiescence. It's nice just to sit and feel warm. Being a Cali girl, I guess I don't realize how much my body _craves _warmth and sunshine like this. They really should let us outside more often.

"So do you know why the doctors let me go outside?" I ask him. The last I had heard, Dr. Primrose was going to make me wait at least a week.

Chris looks down at his hands. "I'm not really sure," he admits. "Maybe Dr. Primrose was feeling guilty about that nurse." He chuckles quietly. "Plus I'm sure your usual girl had something to do with it, too. She's quite the firecracker."

I smile automatically, thinking about she-who-is-not-Faith.

Firecracker indeed. There's something about spending time with her that feels volatile and yet familiar and comfortable at the same time. How I feel about her is certainly not uncomplicated. And being here, being in this LA-based hospital, is not without its ups and downs either. I used to think that I allowed myself to come here just to avoid Sunnydale drama. But now I'm not so sure anymore.

To be honest, I'm not sure of anything right now. But I feel as though I have to make a choice soon. I can't keep living these two half-lives…can I?

The next morning I wake up and I'm still at the asylum. It doesn't bother me that I haven't been back to Sunnydale lately because I'm eager to see my faithful orderly again. I feel like I need to explain the "Dawn" situation, and also thank her for getting me access to go outside, even if she wasn't there to take me outside.

Chris is there in the morning again, but he reassures me after a quick breakfast that I'll get to see her today. All I can do is wait around until she shows up, I guess. I don't have to wait too long though. Soon after Chris takes me from the cafeteria to the TV room, she walks in.

I look up from my magazine and smile when I see her enter the TV lounge. I didn't realize how much I'd missed her until I see her again this morning. She grabs a newspaper from a stack of various papers and magazines and sits down next to me to do a crossword puzzle. This girl certainly likes her games.

"So how was your day off yesterday?" I ask in a pleasant voice.

She doesn't look up from her crossword puzzle or even acknowledge me. Instead, she grunts a little and simply says, "Fine."

I'm not put-off by her morning attitude, however. Maybe she just didn't get a lot of sleep last night. I'm certainly not a morning person myself, but seeing her again after what seems like such a long time has put a smile on my face.

"Chris took me outside yesterday," I say, setting my magazine down on the table. "I was kind of…" I hesitate on the word, unsure of how she'll react, "_sad_ that you weren't the one that got to take me outside."

I pause, letting my words sink in. Her shoulders seem to tense, but she doesn't say anything.

"I mean, you were the one who bugged Dr. Primrose to let me get outside, after all," I continue earnestly. "It felt kind of wrong that you weren't the one who got to take me around."

She doesn't respond in any way to my words. Just keeps looking down intensely at the word puzzle in front of her.

I give her a playful poke. "Hey, are you okay?" I ask. She's been awfully cold and distant with me this morning. Kind of…Faith-like.

"God, will you just leave me alone?" she snaps at me like a feral animal.

I pull away from her, startled by her hostile reaction. "W-what's wrong?" I ask. "Why are you angry? What did I do?"

She grits her teeth. I can see the muscles and bones clenching beneath her cheeks. "I'm tired of you constantly nagging at me," she complains. "I'm a hospital orderly; I'm not your babysitter, you know. It's not like I'm gettin' paid just to entertain you. You're not the only sick one here who needs attention."

I stand up from my chair, immediately offended by her words and her off-putting attitude. A thin-veil of red seems to blur my vision. "God, Faith," I growl. "Why do you always have to act like this?" I demand. "I didn't do anything wrong!" I can feel the cords straining in my neck.

She jumps out of her chair as well and towers slightly over me with her height advantage. "How many times do I have to tell you," she seethes, "that's _not my name!"_

I take a careful step backwards, getting her out of my personal bubble. "I don't have to take this," I declare defiantly.

And I don't. Who does she think she is, ignoring me and then acting like an ass just because I slipped up and called her by the wrong name? It's her fault – if she didn't act and look so much like _her_, I wouldn't keep having this issue.

I concentrate on my anger. I focus on the way she makes me feel – violent and out-of-control. I wasn't sure it would actually work. If it didn't work as planned, I would have had to come up with some smart-alecky reply to how mean she's been this morning.

But it did.

The world around me shifts. Everything around me becomes really bright white and out of focus. I feel like I'm on one of those people movers at the airport – those moving sidewalk things.

When the world floods back into focus, colors and shapes rushing past my eyes, it takes me a few seconds to realize that I'm still moving. Or at least the scenery around me is moving. I blink hard and swallow down the wave of nausea that tickles the base of my throat. I'm seated in a semi-comfortable chair on a public bus.

I look for signs of any luggage or even a ticket stub, but I can't find anything. I search my pockets and only find a handful of rumpled dollars. The man in a suit seated next to me raises his eyebrow at my fumbling and overly chaotic movements.

"Ahh," I start, catching his attention. "This might be a weird question, but where is this bus going to?"

His dark black eyebrows knit together. "Los Angeles?" he says, the last few syllables lilting as though asking a question.

I nod once. "Oh, right." I force out a light laugh. "I don't know what I was thinking," I babble. "Must have just forgotten for a second. That nap I was taking must have made me momentarily disoriented."

He purses his lips, looking unconvinced, but doesn't say anything.

I cringe slightly. "I _was _napping, right?"

He nods slowly, wordlessly.

"Right. Yes," I nod along with him. "Napping. Because I was tired, cause it's early in the morning, and being on buses makes me sleepy."

He turns slightly in his chair, his body language discouraging me from talking to him anymore. I'm sure he's regretting sitting next to the crazy blonde girl now.

I turn to stare out the bus window and watch the landscape fly by. Los Angeles. Why would I be traveling to Los Angeles? The only thing that immediately comes to mind is Angel. At least I'm traveling _to _Los Angeles. So that's got to mean that I haven't been there the entire time in some asylum. Unless I've jetted into a future where I got released from the hospital. Maybe I was just on vacation and am coming home. But would I vacation by myself? And to where? And where would home be anyway? I rest my head in my hands and sigh deeply. Why can't any of this be easier?

The best thing I can hope for is to go to where I remember Angel's offices being located. He might have moved to a different building though. I haven't exactly kept track of him ever since he protected Faith from me.

Plus, he might not even exist, for all I know. Or he does, but he's actually an orderly at an asylum with a penchant for hair products and biting necks.

When the bus finally rumbles to a stop, I quickly locate the closest payphone. I don't have any change to make a phone call, although I don't even know who I'd call. But payphones have something I need – a phonebook. I quickly look up the 'Detective' section and scroll down for Angel Investigations. I don't know if he advertises, but something tells me that with Cordelia at the helm, they probably even have an ad.

I'm not disappointed: "Angel Investigations – we help the helpless."

The address doesn't look familiar, but I'm not worried. I know that Angel exists wherever I am right now and that's the important thing.

I use the last of the cash in my pockets to take a taxi to the address in the phone book. The vehicle drives through an abandoned part of the city and finally stops in front of a menacing looking building. I pay and thank the driver and cautiously make my way to the front doors of the plaster and concrete structure. I try the impressive wooden front doors, but they're locked.

I peer through the dirty windows of the seemingly abandoned hotel. The bright sunlight of the early morning makes it even harder to look inside, and I don't see any signs of life…or the undead.

"Buffy?"

I stand up straight at the sound of my name and turn to see a familiar former beauty queen standing on the sidewalk, holding a pink box of donuts.

"Cordelia!" I gush, rushing over to her and pulling her into a tight embrace.

She pulls away from what's surely an unexpected hug. "Did dying make you suddenly overly affection?" she deadpans.

"I'm sorry," I pull back and put my hands behind my back. "I guess I didn't realize how relieved I'd be to track you guys down."

Her face visibly blanches. "Oh God. You heard didn't you? You heard about Angel, and that's why you're here."

My breath catches in my throat, but I don't know why. Cordelia's face looks so serious it's starting to freak me out. The only other time I've seen her look like that is when we fought over a pair of Jimmy Choos.

"W-what's going on?" I dare to ask. "What happened with Angel?"

She looks a little embarrassed. "He's, uh…" she hesitates, "he's a Dad."

….a _what? _

Okay, so maybe the revelation that I could be Dawn's mother wasn't shocking enough, but how could _Angel _be a dad? I must seriously be in the wrong dimension again.

Although a million thoughts are streaming through my head, I can only think of one question. My jaw is clenched and I'm surprised by the venom in my words: "Who's the mother, Cordelia?"

The former Sunnydale resident winces. "Promise you're not going to hit me, okay? "

"Cordelia," I breathe, feeling my patience quickly slipping. "Who. Is. The. Mother?"

She audibly swallows and takes a step away from me. "Darla."

Okay…didn't expect that one. Vampire babies.

And apparently the news is too much for me to handle, because the cement sidewalk suddenly feels like it's swallowing me up whole. Cordelia's apologetic face swims in and out of focus.

"Buffy?" Her voice sounds muffled and far away. "Buffy? Are you okay? You're looking…."

Her voice fades out completely and with it, Los Angeles. Or at least the version of Los Angeles I had been experiencing.

Instead of standing with Cordelia in a seedy part of LA, I find myself barefoot, standing in a bright, white bathroom. The room is empty except for a few bathtubs lined up in rows. The ceramic tile feels bitterly cold against the bottoms of my sweaty feet. I look around and immediately recognize it as the large group bathroom at the asylum.

I'm back.

I look for signs of life and jump slightly when I hear the sound of a squeaky faucet being turned on, followed by the rush of water. I turn to see a woman leaning over a tub, filling it with water. I can't see her face because her dark brown hair is in the way of her facial features.

"Time for your bath, Buffy," the woman says in a cheerful enough tone. But the voice is wrong. No no no no. She's not supposed to be here, Faith is.

But not Faith, I know that. Kind of. Sort of.

The hospital employee straightens and gives me a warm smile. "Hop on in," she says.

"I…I'm not dirty," I insist. My voice feels huge and echo-y in this space.

Her smile twists to one side of her mouth. "Don't give me a hard time, okay? Your regular girl will be back soon enough," she insists in a reassuring voice. "I'm just with you for the day."

Why is she gone again? She wasn't around when Chris had to wheel me around outside, and now she's not here when I apparently need a bath. I've never heard of someone with so much vacation time. Maybe I should quit fast food and go into hospital work.

The new orderly sits down in a cushioned seat near the tub intended for me. "Go on," she says, this time in a slightly sterner voice.

I sigh. _Guess there's no getting out of this._ _At least the bath water will be warm, _I reason to myself, shivering slightly in my thin clothes.

I cast my eyes toward the ground and awkwardly step out of my drawstring pants. The top is long enough that it covers most of me, but I don't feel comfortable undressing in front of this woman.

I just need to shut down so I don't feel so much. That's why all of this has been happening to me –I've been feeling too much lately. When I'm angry, I'm able to shift in and out, but if I get too surprised or upset that seems to be trigger enough to send me to a new place, too.

Maybe that's why it's been easier to stay here. Because most of the time when she's around, I feel happy. But she's not here now...where did she go? She couldn't have another day off so soon, could she?

I'm so tired of feeling like this. Like if I dwell on her being gone for too long, the tears automatically spring to my eyes. I feel so alone in this place without her around.

I take a few deep breaths before sliding my underwear down my legs and kicking them in a small pile near my pajama pants. Next comes my shirt. I quickly slide into the deep tub after I strip off my clothes, and immediately dip my head backwards, immersing my hair in the clear, warm water.

The water's not as sudsy as it had been before when she'd bathed me, and it makes me feel eerily vulnerable with this new female orderly. I mean, nothing about her is threatening or creepy, but how am I supposed to be comfortable bathing in front of a complete stranger?

"Do you have to watch me do this?" I ask, hoping my words don't offend her.

The woman looks up from her reading material. She nods and gives me a sympathetic smile. "Sorry, it's the rules," she apologizes before going back to her gossip magazine.

So many rules.

I lean back in the tub, dunking my head again. The water's shallow enough and the tub is long enough that I can lie down, resting the back of my head against the bottom of the tub without drowning. The water floods my ears, making all the noises around me sound hollow. After a while, the whole world melts away, and I close my eyes and focus on the singular sound of the drippy faucet.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

When I open my eyes again, the lighting in the room has changed. The sun must be lower in the horizon. I must have fallen asleep. I'm surprised that no one woke me up and made me get out of the tub, however.

I sit up in the tub and find myself alone in the room. The new orderly is no longer in her chair. The water is no longer warm and my body shivers. My clothes are still on the floor, but I've no towel to dry off with.

I carefully step out of the tub, mindful not to slip on the marble tile. I try to shake as much water off of my form, using my hands like a squeegee on my limbs. Satisfied with my hasty dry-job, I pull on my pajamas. The cotton material sticks to my legs and my back, making it uncomfortable to move.

I hear a rustling noise from somewhere in the room, and my body instinctively tenses. "Hello?" I call out into the darkness. There's no response, so I continue to investigate. I leave the bathroom, and find myself in a dimly lit corridor. It's still the asylum as I remember it, but the hallways are empty.

I cautiously tiptoe down the cold hallway. I've no socks or shoes on, and the floor feels frigid beneath my bare feet. The only sound I hear as I continue to explore is the slight sticking noise of my feet against the hard ground.

When I turn a corner, I find myself face-to-face with one of the ugliest demons I've ever seen. It looks like something out of one of those _Alien _movies Xander made me sit through once. Its body is long, dark, and lanky and it's bulbous head looks as though the slightest movement will make it topple over.

The creature opens its large, snapping jaws. Saliva drips from its jowls. I feel frozen to the spot although my brain is screaming at my body to react. Fight. Run. Punch. Scream. Do _something! _

I watch as the demon fills its lungs with air. It's so thin, I can see its ribs contracting and shifting beneath the tight skin stretched across its barrel-like torso. And then it unleashes a shriek so loud and high-pitched that I close my eyes and press my hands over my ears, trying desperately to block out the unearthly noise.

When I open my eyes again, the monster is gone and I'm back in the asylum bathroom. The sun streams in through the bar-less windows, and the new orderly hums a tune to herself as she flips through the pages of her magazine.

I look around, startled to be back here. Did I fall asleep in the bathtub? Did I just dream that? Or am I really going crazy?

I sink further down into the tub and close my eyes again. I feel like crying. I used to have control of this world-shifting, but I can't seem to hold onto anything anymore. Everything is slipping away.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**Faith's POV**

**(uh huh…you read that right)**

I turn on the shower and step into the spray. I feel dirty. But I don't think any amount of hot water and soap is gonna absolve me of my sins this time. Maybe I should be bathing in Holy Water instead.

The water takes a while to get warm, but I stand beneath the spray anyway. One thing about this place – the water might not be as warm as I normally like it – but the water pressure's enough to spray the skin off your bones. Comes in handy when the guards need to hose one girl off of another. And it's not any of that fun girl-on-girl action either. More like hosin' down a Death Match between two giant dykes.

It took me a little time to get used to group showers. At first I could feel everyone gazing and leering at the new fish in the pond. Not that I blame them. When you get used to the other stuff on the menu for so long, a new entrée always makes mouths water.

But enough of badly camouflaged metaphors….

When I'd gotten the notice that I had a visitor, I was honestly a little shocked. Angel had just been in to see me a few days ago, and he's usually a long time coming between trips. Not that I blame the big guy for not coming to see me more often. I know he's got a lot on his plate right now – things more important than visiting a murderer in prison.

I worried, as the guards ushered me down the corridor towards the visiting area, that some Big Bad was giving the LA gang trouble or that someone had died and he was breaking the bad news to me.

But I never expected to see _her _sitting on the other side of the Plexiglas when the prison guard pushed me through the heavy metal doors.

She stares at me and I'm sure my face reveals my disbelief. It takes me a few moments to gather my wits, and the guard pressing his hand in the center of my back doesn't help any. I feel like I'm on a pirate ship. Forced to walk the plank. And Buffy Summer's hazel-green eyes are the shark-infested waters I have to dive into.

I watch her pick up the black plastic phone from the receiver and stare expectedly at me. I'm forced a few feet closer to her and the little visiting booth where I've shared so many deep, revealing, and painful conversations with her former lover.

_Why is she here?_

As I continue to stand, staring at her, I feel a rough hand on my shoulder push me down toward the seat. "Sit. Down," the guard gruffly instructs me. I'd been on the wrong end of a guard baton too often when I first turned myself in, so I obey. Reluctantly.

I pick up the phone on my end, my hands handcuffed together in front of me. I bring the phone up to my ear. And wait.

"Hi," she speaks into the receiver. There's no malice in her voice and it mildly surprises me. But then again, there's not really much emotion of _any _kind in that one-worded greeting.

"Hey yourself."

I try to slip on my mask of nonchalance. The last time she saw me, I was bruised and broken and defeated. Not much has changed though. I still feel entirely vulnerable when she looks at me.

I can't even imagine what's brought her here. Shit must have seriously hit the fan or she's just bored with her life. But it's not like I've got anything better to do. I suppose getting to see her beats another _Judge Judy _episode in the television lounge. Dude. You have no idea how much the chicks in this place dig on that show. It's embarrassing, really.

"I…" she starts and stops. She fidgets with the black cord that connects the plastic phone to the wall. "My mom died."

My stomach lurches at her words, and I quickly forget the stoical front I was trying so hard to stand behind. "Oh God, B," I breathe. "Was it…was it a vamp? Some kind of demon?" I genuinely worry.

She shakes her head, her eyes squinting to keep the tears at bay. "Brain aneurism."

I have no idea what that is, but I know it's not supernatural. The tightness in my stomach lightens up a little bit. At least this can't be something Buffy will blame herself for, right?

Who am I kidding though? The Great Blonde One has always had a martyr complex to go with her Weight of the World shtick.

But regardless of that, the thought of Buffy's mom being dead forces me into a kind of thought-coma. Joyce had been sick. I wonder if she'd been sick when I'd held her hostage. No, I quickly reason. Buffy wouldn't have let her sick mom stay on her own, not visiting to the point that her mail had piled up like mountains. This had to have been recent. Quick. Unexpected.

Joyce had always been so kind. And a good cook on top of that. And how had I treated her the last time I saw her? I socked her in the face, stole her make-up, and racked up her credit cards.

I don't know what to say to Buffy. She isn't crying, but the void of emotion in her voice tells me she's breaking down on the inside and just trying to put on a brave face. I want to tell her how sorry I am. But they're just words. The unwanted apologies and condolences of a murder.

"It…it was about a year ago," she says. "I'm sorry no one told you."

I swallow hard. Did Buffy just apologize_ to me_?

"S'ok, B," I murmur into the phone. "I know you must have had a lot of things on your plate lately."

I wonder if that's the only reason she's here. To tell me about her mom.

In the next cubical over, one of my fellow inmates is bitching loudly to her sister about her baby daddy not visiting enough.

Buffy releases a frustrated sigh. "I hate talking to you like this."

Her words make me squirm uncomfortably in my plastic chair. "You don't have to be here, you know. Nobody made you come and nobody's making you stay."

Her hazel-green eyes slightly widen. "I don't mean I hate talking _to you_," she self-corrects. "I…I hate talking to you like _this._" She waves her free hand around, motioning to our plastic cubical. "It's like you're a caged-up animal."

"That's because I_ am_ an animal, B," I snort. "I wouldn't be locked up like this if it weren't true."

Her mouth twists into a deep frown and I can see the beginnings of wrinkles on her forehead. Life's been hard to Buffy. I'm sure some of her premature aging has to do with me, too.

I smirk when an option pops into my mind. My cellmate had just had a visit from her boyfriend on the outside and she wouldn't stop bragging about it.

"What?" Buffy asks with a suspicious eyebrow crooked. "What are you smiling about?"

I give her an innocent grin and lean closer to the glass that separates us. "There _is _another way we could talk, B," I rasp lowly. "Alone, I mean."

"Am I supposed to be waiting on pins and needles?" she deadpans. "All this time in prison must have messed with your ideas of what's good suspense."

I ignore the jab because what I have to say is gonna mess with her head. "It's called a conjugal visit," I snicker.

I can't help but laugh at her expression. Her jaw goes lax for a few seconds, but her mouth snaps back up.

"When can you arrange one?" she asks, her voice low. Her eyes shift in her head and she nervously peaks around as if trying to ascertain if anyone can hear the topic of our conversation.

Now it's _my _turn to stammer. Luckily, her face has turned a million shades of red as well.

"I don't mean…I don't want to…It would just be…" she struggles for the word, "…_nice _to talk to someone who doesn't look at me like I'm about to shatter into a million pieces."

She takes a deep breath and I can see the pain fall away from her face. That's what we Slayers do best, it seems. Shove our emotions down so deep, even _we _can't find them.

I stand up abruptly. Her showing up and being entirely civil and so…_human _makes me want to scream.

"Come back around this time tomorrow," I order curtly, pushing my chair back to its original position. "I haven't been crackin' skulls these past few weeks," I tell her, "so I'm probably due some perks."

She looks up at me from her still-seated position and nods wordlessly. Then I hang up the phone, turn, and exit the way I came.

When Buffy shows up the next day, around the same time as her previous visit, she's a vision in her peasant skirt, tank top, cardigan, and gladiator sandals. I can't help but chuckle at the sight of her though. I mean, who dresses up like that to visit a _prison_?

When the guard opens the heavy metal door for her, and we're face-to-face for the first time since the last rooftop encounter, I can only stare at her.

"Hi," she says shyly, not quite looking at me.

"Nice outfit," I grunt. _Smooth, Lehane._

Her bronzed face slightly pinks in an endearing way, and she tugs at her skirt. "I had to borrow some clothes from Cordelia," she reveals. "It's…it's a long story."

I hear the guard behind me chuckle to himself. Dirty pervert is probably already picturing what he thinks is about to go down between the two of us.

I turn my head and give him a dirty look. "Clock's a tickin'," I spit. "Where's our room?"

The broad-shouldered man adjusts his gun belt and nods in the direction of a short hallway. "Down there," he says.

Buffy leads the way and I obediently follow. I try hard to not admire the way her small, pert backside moves beneath her flowing skirt. I _try. _Doesn't mean I don't reward myself with an eyeful though. Girlfriend's always had a tight, smokin' body and even though she died yet again since the last time we've seen each other, death's been good to her body.

Yeah…when Angel broke that news to me a handful of months ago, I seriously didn't think I'd ever recover. I couldn't explain it at the time – why her death would have that kind of impact on me. At first I was just feelin' sorry for myself that I'd never get to apologize to her and couldn't complete my 12-step program. But after a few revealing conversations with the prison head-shrinker, I came to realize there was much more behind my feelings of dread and remorse.

Buffy walks into the small 'visiting' room and looks around briefly. "Are there cameras in here?" she asks after she's checked out the space. There's not much to look at, but then again the room isn't really used for conversations.

I pass by her and sit down on the double bed. It's the only piece of furniture in the depressing room. "Not that I know of," I state in a voice that's infinitely calmer than I really feel. I grab onto my knees to keep my hands from shaking.

She stands in the center of the room and fidgets anxiously. I know she's starting to rethink coming to see me. She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth and begins to worry her teeth against it.

"Don't worry, B," I chuckle. "They're not gonna know this isn't a _real _conjugal visit."

The next thing I know, she's flying at me on the bed and pressing her lips hard against mine. Her hands seem to be everywhere like she's suddenly sprouted a few extra pairs. I can only appropriately react, however, when she pushes her candy tongue into my mouth.

"B," I gasp, retching myself away from her clinging, warm figure, "w-what the fuck are you doin'?"

"Please. I just…I just need to feel something," she sobs, pulling at my arms. "I just feel so empty and confused. Y-you can't understand what I've been going through the past few days."

The look in her eyes makes something inside me break. It's aching and needy and for a split-second I entertain the idea that maybe she needs _me. _ But I know that's not what this is about.

I feel utterly rattled, but I can't let her know that. I stand up and pace away from her a few steps, my back to her. _I can't understand? _

"Try me," I say. I turn on my heels and see her face, full of confusion. "We've got time," I remind her.

She stands again and closes the distance between us. I feel my body involuntarily bristle when her hand glides up the side of my face. I don't expect such a soft, intimate touch from her. A broken nose, yes. This gentle caress, no.

"I'd rather not waste our time talking about me," she says in a quiet voice.

Her eyelashes flutter. Her hazel-green irises drink me in and it feels a little like falling. She once again, this time more gently, presses her lips against mine. I_ really_ thought we were going to talk. But if this is what she'd rather do with our time together, who am I to say no?

My hands go down her back and I pull her closer to me, our cores pressed tightly together. Her skirt seems like a good idea now, and I can't help but wonder if she'd had this planned from the beginning. Leave it to B to plan _everything_.

Hesitantly I reach behind her with my left hand. My fingers grasp the cotton material of her skirt and I begin to bunch it, raising her hemline higher with every handful of cotton. After a few seconds I feel my hand against her bare ass cheek. She doesn't resist, and instead deepens our kiss, so I move my hand lower and between her slightly parted legs until my fingers find the tiny strip of material that covers the back of her pussy.

Buffy surprises me, moaning quietly when my fingers make their first intimate contact with her. And even though I'm only touching her thong, we both know that only a sliver of fabric separates her from my fingertips. I can feel the warmth of her sex and I can feel her wetness, too. But I stop there with my fingers just barely grazing the modest material covering her pussy lips.

It's the point of no return.

I press my fingertips into the fabric and Buffy breaks our kiss to breathe in sharply. Her eyes are closed tightly and she's clutching my shoulders now, but she hasn't moved and she hasn't pulled away.

I continue looking at her beautiful face as I remove my left hand from her backside and instead push my right hand between our bodies. I guide my hand under the front material of her skirt, sliding my hand up her leg and between her soft thighs. Her skin is so soft, it makes me want to cry. Everything about prison is cold and hard and she's a reminder of just what I'm missing while being locked up here.

I take a deep breath and push my fingers under the edge of her panties. When they finally come in contact with her bare pussy lips, we both release a ragged breath. I didn't realize she'd been holding her breath as well. Her timidity is soon forgotten however, and I feel her suddenly thrust herself against my hand.

Her arousal is thick and slippery and as soon as my fingers find their way between her lips, it's like a dam breaks inside of her. I avoid my desire to push a finger into her. I want to be swallowed up by her, I want to be buried between her delicate folds. But not just yet.

Buffy grunts quietly and I wrap my free arm around her svelte waist as she continues to grind her sex against my hand. I move my fingers beneath the tight confines of her underwear, seeking out her small nub of flesh. When I find it, she slumps in my hold. Again and again she rubs herself against my fingers and I struggle to keep contact against her clit as she wiggles and continues to spill her juices onto my hand.

She clutches at my back, holding me against her as she masturbates herself on my hand. All I can do is hold her and enjoy the ride. Despite my desires to tease her to the point of frustration, she's determined to get herself off…_right now. _She wants to cum, and I know it.

Despite her frustrated cry of protest, and my own insanity, I pull my hand out of her underwear. Her face looks flushed and a little embarrassed by her own enthusiasm. The old me would have taunted her about letting down her guard like that. But I bite my tongue, and instead push the light cardigan off of her shoulders.

If this is really going to happen between us, I want it to be more than teenagers fumbling over their clothes. The sweater falls easily down her slender, toned arms and falls into a heap on the floor. I pause long enough to kiss the tops of her lightly-golden shoulders. She tastes a little like sunscreen, but I certainly don't mind.

I pull at the bottom hem of her form-fitting tank top. She wordlessly raises her hands above her head to help me. I pull the material up, mindful of her hair, and painfully aware with each inch of revealed skin, that she's the most breathtaking woman on the planet.

When I carefully remove her bra and drop it to join the rest of her clothes, I stand for a moment, just admiring her naked torso. Her abdomen is flat and slightly muscled from years of self-denial and discipline. Her breasts might be small, but they stand high on her chest, capped by two pink nipples. And her collarbone might be the most delicious looking thing I've ever seen.

I immediately dip my head and suck a small breast into my hungry mouth. I feel her body shiver beneath my mouth, and I place my hands in the small of her back, holding her where I want her. Her nipples are stiff and supple in my mouth and I take my time, worshiping her flesh.

I flick the tip of my tongue against the soft, spongy nubs, smiling when I hear her small gasps of pleasure. I rotate between her hardened nipples, sucking the nubs into my mouth and gently biting them between my front teeth.

When her nipples look painfully erect, I release them from my mouth and push her back onto the double bed. She still doesn't say anything though. Just keeps looking at me with those big, expressive eyes.

I reach beneath her skirt yet again and my fingers nervously fumble to find the elastic top of her underwear. She lifts her hips and ass off of the bed, allowing me to pull away the final barrier between her pussy and myself. She's still got on her skirt, but something about her still having it on turns me on too much to bother taking it off of her.

I hover above her reclined form momentarily, just resting on my knees. Her feet are flat on the top of the covers, and her knees are in the air like she's waiting for an OB/GYN to check her out. That thought alone should turn me off, but the prospect of eatin' out Buffy Summers has me salivating too much to ruin this moment.

I glide the palms of my hands beneath her skirt and up along her smooth inner thighs. Her breath is ragged when my hands touch her this way, and I'm surprised _I _still remember how to breathe. I push the soft cotton material of her skirt up her slender tanned thighs. My stare is intense, memorizing every inch of her unblemished skin.

When I finally have her skirt pushed up around her waist, the material bunched up to reveal her naked pussy, I hesitate. It's not that I've never done this before – I have – and I know I'm damn good at it. But this is Buffy.

As if she can read my thoughts, she reaches up from her prone position and gently grabs the back of my neck. She still doesn't say anything, but I'm only too happy to be pulled down and relocated between her thighs.

I suckle at her perfectly shaped clit and Buffy releases a tortured moan like she's been waitin' for this to happen all her life. Truth be told, I've been waitin' a helluva long time to get between her perfect thighs.

The shape of her clit, the softness of her pussy lips, the way she tastes. It's all perfect. I shoulda known though. Everything about Buffy is perfect, so why wouldn't her pussy be the same way?

A few months ago and I'd probably be gettin' off on the rush of power I feel being able to make her moan and writhe on the bed sheets like this. But that's who I used to be. Now I hardly recognize the girl I am. I'm more like a shell of my former self. But at least I don't wanna kill her anymore. And from the way she's groaning out my name, something tells me that killin' me is the last thing on her mind, too.

I slide a single digit between her pussy lips and bury it to the hilt. I can't help the loud groan that escapes my mouth when I feel how warm and tight her pussy is. She's wet. So wet. And the clicking noise her pussy makes when my finger slides in and out is nearly enough to make me cum in my prison jumpsuit.

I piston my finger in and out of her clenching hole while still sucking on her clit. The entire time she's crying out and clenching onto the metal bed frame. The bed didn't look all that stable to begin with, and I half expect her to break the bed, honestly.

With one final thrust, and one final moan, her sex clamps around my finger and she cums with shuddering gasps.

It's all over far too soon.

I pull my finger out of her and wipe her juices off my cheeks with the back of my other hand. When I pull myself off of my knees, I notice her body is slightly shaking.

"B…Buffy…are…are you okay?" I ask, mildly shaken by her reaction. I didn't go too far did I? Maybe this…this wasn't what she had in mind?

I hear her sniffle loudly. "I-I'm fine," she says in a shaky voice. "It's…It's not anything you did, I promise."

I don't know what to say to her. I can't apologize for the many mistakes I made in our collective past. She's already made that clear. So instead of words, I crawl up on the double bed beside her huddled body. And I just…I just _hold her_ until our hour is over.

The warning buzz comes five minutes before our time is up. Buffy slowly pulls away from me, wiping away at her nearly dried tears with the backs of her hands.

She stands up and slowly dresses, and I look away. Her back is to me as though we're strangers and she's uncomfortable being naked in my presence. It's as though what just passed between us never really happened.

She doesn't look at me when the door opens; she just thanks the prison guard curtly and goes down a hallway towards Freedom.

I stand up from the bed, leave the now-empty room, and head back towards the showers.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

**Buffy POV**

When I wake up again, I find myself in a dark room. And I have no idea where I am.

It's not the asylum, and it's not my bedroom in Sunnydale either. The air smells stale as if the room is ill-used. I cautiously creep out of the double bed, pulling the thin comforter off my body. My clothes are strange too – boxer shorts and an oversized t-shirt as though I spent the night at in old boyfriend's room. Maybe I've stumbled into yet another reality where I date a man who likes Dave Matthews Band and flannel. If that's the case, this must be Hell.

I turn on the bedside table, but the lamp doesn't illuminate. I suppose it would help if there were actually a light bulb though. I pad to the windows and draw back the heavy curtains. A sneeze tickles my nose when I pull away the heavy window-treatment from all the dust that powders the air.

Bright sunlight steams through the glass windows, filtering through the dust particles. It briefly makes me think of my Grandma. When she would babysit Dawn and me, she'd always bellow, "Stop running around you two. You're raising dust." It always made me think of a farmer. What kind of farmer would raise dust? Always seemed like a silly crop to me.

Outside this room the world beneath is bustling. Busy people clamber along the sidewalks, taxi cabs and other vehicles swerve along the streetscape, all unaware of my presence a few stories above. There's palm trees dotting the landscape, so I imagine I'm in southern California or Florida. But I have no idea why I'd be in Florida. Unless, again…Hell.

I look around the sparsely decorated room, trying to find more clues of wherever I spent the night. The last thing I remember is taking a bath at the asylum and dreaming of chasing demons through the abandoned hospital. Folded neatly in an easy chair beside the bed are the clothes I remember wearing when I ran into Cordelia. The sight of the t-shirt and blue jeans is more welcomed than I would have imagined. I must have blacked out and Cordelia brought me…where exactly? This doesn't really look like the type of place Cordelia Chase would live.

I slip out of the mysterious band t-shirt and men's boxers and pull on my regular clothes again. The pockets of my jeans are empty except for the bus ticket that somehow got me to Los Angeles. There's a bathroom connected to the bedroom, so I take a quick minute to freshen up, scrubbing my face with warm water and futilely fixing my hair in the dingy bathroom mirror.

Satisfied with my reflection, I leave the bathroom and open the bedroom door, not sure what to expect. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that the hallway is dark, too. The hallway is darker than the bedroom, so I allow my eyes to adjust before continuing.

I pad down a carpeted staircase which opens out into a large, open floor-planned room. Only a minimal amount of natural sunlight streams through dirty plate-glass windows. The air looks heavy with dust particles where the beams of light filter through. My footsteps creek noisily against the wooden floor.

"Hello?" I call out, my voice echoing against the tall vaulted ceiling. "Is anybody here?"

Getting no response, I continue my exploring. The room looks like the lobby of some fancy hotel – which I guess makes sense considering the second floor hallway looked like it belonged in a hotel as well. But I seem to be the only guest and that's never a good sign.

A crashing noise alerts me. It sounds like it came from somewhere behind the front desk area, but I can't be sure of the acoustics in this place.

"Hello?" I call out again, making my way to the reception area.

The countertops are barren: no paperwork, no brochures, no keys, not even one of those metal bells you ring for service. Feeling brave and a little nosy, I go behind the front desk where only employees are allowed. There's a door marked 'Employees Only' and my curiosity is immediately peaked.

I step closer to the wooden door, and have no time to call out in alarm when suddenly it opens towards me and smashes against my face. I call out a few undistinguishable, shocked, and angry noises from the impact and stagger backwards. When the blinding white light clears from my eyes, my gaze refocuses on the very alarmed features of Cordelia.

"Geez, Buffy," she exclaims, one hand against her heart. "Scare me much?"

I press my fingers against the bridge of my nose and tears start to stream from my eyes. "Geez, Cordelia," I counter. "Break my nose much?"

She waves a dismissive hand and casually strolls past me. "Oh, don't be such a baby," she says. "You're in LA. You can buy yourself a new nose."

I turn and watch her settled down at the reception desk with a jelly donut in hand.

"What is this place?" I ask.

"It's Angel's new office," she states between mouthfuls of pastry. "I forgot you haven't been here since we switched locations."

I shake my head, trying to collect my thoughts. The last time I was in LA – or at least the last time _Sunnydale Buffy _was in LA – had been years ago. I'd hopped the first bus to the city after Faith had taken off. After she'd stolen my body and slept with my boyfriend. Angel had practically banished me from coming back to _his _city after that confrontation, and Faith had turned herself into the police.

_Faith. _

I'd nearly forgotten she was here, too.

"Where's Angel?" I ask, hoping my tone doesn't sound too anxious.

Cordelia looks uncomfortable by my question. "He's not here," she reveals. "He's…he's looking for Connor."

"Who's that?" The name doesn't register with me.

"His baby."

"Oh. Right." Apparently a lot had happened since we'd last seen each other. He was a dad now. A dad. How the hell was that even possible?

"Um, so did he misplace him or something?" I ask, feeling terribly out of the loop. "Because I thought he'd be a more responsible father than that." I'm only half joking.

Cordelia looks suddenly tired. "It's complicated, Buffy," she says vaguely. "You've been out of Angel's life for a long time now. It's not like you can keep popping in and out of our lives like this. It's not fair to anyone."

Her words make me bristle. It's not like I'm doing this on purpose, after all. I have no idea why I'm even here in the first place.

"Can I use your phone?" I ask abruptly rather than try to defend my appearance.

The former Sunnydale beauty queen nods. "Yeah, there's a landline in there," she says, pointing towards the 'Employees Only' door.

I nod my thanks and head toward the door that has probably ruined my nose. I stop just before I breach the entrance. "By the way," I note, pausing at the swinging door. "How did I get into those pajamas last night?"

The smug smile on Cordelia's face is all the answer I need.

I call home, hoping to get a sense of why in the world I'd been traveling to LA. If I wasn't able to find Angel, since Cordelia was being less than forthcoming about his current whereabouts, I'd have to pull it out of Willow or Dawn.

Dawn answers the phone and she doesn't sound alarmed that I'm calling her, so I imagine I must have told her something about my plan. Not wanting to sound crazy (which ironically that's been a big concern of mine lately), I try to get details about my trip without sounding suspicious.

"How are things at home?" I ask casually.

I can almost hear her rolling her eyes. "Geez, Buffy," she complains. "You really didn't have to check in with me; you've been gone less than a day. I haven't had time to burn down the house yet or get knocked up."

"Ha-ha," I deadpan.

"So did you find her yet?" Dawn asks me eagerly. "Have you talked to her? How does she look?"

"Ah, no. Haven't found her yet," I say, not sure to whom my sister is referring. Maybe Cordelia?

"I wonder what she's like now," my sister muses aloud. "I mean, after spending all this time in prison –that's gotta change a person, right?"

Prison. The word makes my stomach drop as I suddenly realize my purpose for this trip.

Faith.

Cordelia waves out the window of her black compact car. "Okay, you two play nice now," she bellows out the open drivers' side window. "I'll be back in an hour after your play date."

I grit my teeth, but say nothing, as I watch Cordelia drive away. She honks once and I see her waving hand in the rear window one more time as she turns out the long driveway that leads away from the prison.

I guess I lucked out because Cordelia knew exactly where Faith was being incarcerated and how to get there. When I asked if she'd been visiting the Boston slayer, Cordelia just snorted. "As if," she muttered.

I have to check in with the prison guards when I first enter the facility. They ask me a bunch of questions and give me a long list of items I'm not allowed to have on me when I enter the visitation area. Luckily, I don't have any stakes on me, but I've gotten pretty good at explaining their purpose since my first days in Sunnydale.

A lanky blond guard leads me towards the visitation area. Some prisoners get to sit at cafeteria-style tables with their loved ones. Others are separated from their friends and family by plex-i-glass. I briefly wonder which I'll get…which I'd prefer.

I ask my escort if I'll get to sit at a table or in one of the private booths. "First time, huh?" he asks with a small smile.

I nod. "Yeah, I-I've been busy," I say lamely.

"It's okay," he reassures me with a surprisingly kind smile. "You're here now and that's what counts."

I nod guiltily and allow him to lead me toward one of the booths.

When they bring her in, I almost don't recognize her. Her hair is longer, maybe even a shade lighter from the sun. She must get to go out in The Yard pretty frequently. I think that's what it's called. Her face is a little fuller, the cleft in her chin a little more pronounced, no doubt from finally having three meals a day that don't consist of McDonald's value meals. The make-up I've been so accustomed to seeing painted on her face isn't there. Her face is scrubbed totally clean. I don't think I've ever seen her without make-up before.

And I can't forget to mention the orange jumpsuit. As if prison isn't bad enough, they force the inmates to wear the most unflattering shade of orange ever. At least it's not horizontal stripes though; I'd personally be on the phone to Amnesty International for that fashion crime.

I wonder what I look like to her.

Faith is in prison. Faith Is In Prison. I guess I never really thought about it much until now – which I know makes me a horrible person. I never really thought much about her when she was in a coma, either. She's right to hate me the way she does.

Even with the thick piece of plex-i-glass that separates us, I can see the shock on her face. I don't blame her. I'm shocked to be here myself. It's surreal – I feel like I'm on a movie set or something.

I pick up the black plastic phone from its receiver and sit down. I wonder how many other people have sat in this uncomfortable chair in this uncomfortable situation? I wish I had thought to brought some bleach wipes with me.

She still hasn't sat down yet and it's starting to unnerve me. _Why won't she just sit down? _ Did I drag her away from something more interesting?

The tall guard standing behind her puts a hand on her shoulder. I can just make out his muffled command: "Sit. Down."

I half expect Faith to turn around and mouth off to the somber-looking man, but she obeys him instead.

She picks up her own phone and I notice the silver bracelets around her wrists. Inmates get to wear jewelry? It suddenly dawns on me what they are though. Handcuffs.

God, I'm an idiot.

We're silent for a moment.

"Hi," I say into the phone. God, I'm lame.

"Hey yourself," she replies casually. She's leaning back in her chair in a way that almost makes it look comfortable. I know it's not though. Nothing about this is easy.

I know I should say something. I'm the one who came to visit her, after all. But after all my fancy speeches I've ever given her, I'm suddenly without one.

"I…" I stop to fidget with the black cord that connects the plastic phone to the wall. What to say? After all this time? After all our lack of communication? I wonder if she knows that I died again. I wonder if she could feel it. I'm not ready to bridge that yet. The words seem to tumble unintentionally from my mouth: "My mom died."

She sits forward suddenly and her face reveals her concern. "Oh God, B," she rasps in a voice harder and raspier than I remember. Must be from all the smoking. "Was it…was it a vamp? Some kind of demon?" she worries aloud.

Her concern surprises me and a wave of emotion washes over me. I haven't thought about my mom's death in quite a while. My eyes suddenly sting and I rapidly blink to keep the tears at bay. "Brain aneurism," I choke out.

Her face looks suddenly quiet and contemplative and what I wouldn't give to be able to read her thoughts. The quiet unsettles me and I start to babble: "It…it was about a year ago," I say. "I'm sorry no one told you."

"S'ok, B," she murmurs into the phone. "I know you must have had a lot of things on your plate lately." Her dark eyes draw me in. It's like I'm seeing her for the first time. There's no anger. It's just…remorse…and it makes me ache all over.

In the cubical next to us a woman starts shrieking about something, and it snaps me out of my daze. I let out a frustrated sigh. "I hate talking to you like this."

As soon as the words come out I know she'll misinterpret them.

"You don't have to be here, you know," she mutters miserably. She slumps back into her chair, and I know I've lost her again. "Nobody made you come and nobody's making you stay."

I immediately begin to back-peddle. "I don't mean I hate talking _to you_," I self-correct. "I…I hate talking to you like _this._" I wave my hand around, motioning to our plastic cubical. "It's like you're a caged-up animal."

"That's because I_ am_ an animal, B," she snorts bitterly. "I wouldn't be locked up like this if it weren't true."

God damn it. Why does she always do this? Why does she always have to be so hard on herself?

Strangely, her mouth is no longer a frown. Instead, it's that mischievous smirk that was never too far from her lips. I'm immediately suspicious.

"What?" I demand. "What are you smiling about?"

She gives me a falsely innocent grin and leans closer to the glass that separates us. "There _is _another way we could talk, B," she rasps lowly into her telephone. I can't tell if she's trying to be mysterious or seductive with that tone of voice. Either way, it makes me wiggle uncomfortably in my chair. "Alone, I mean."

"Am I supposed to be waiting on pins and needles?" I deadpan, masking my unease with sarcasm. "All this time in prison must have messed with your ideas of what's good suspense."

Her next words take me by surprise. "It's called a conjugal visit," she snickers.

Oh my.

I snap my mouth closed, but I know she's gotten the best of me. It's always been a talent of hers – surprising me, that is. Well, I'm not that same girl anymore. I can make _her _squirm too.

I drop my voice to a low burr. "When can you arrange one?"

Her mouth opens and closes a few times comically like a goldfish feeding. When I suddenly realize what I'm proposing, however, I start to get nervous again.

"I don't mean…I don't want to…It would just be…" I struggle to form a complete thought, "…_nice _to talk to someone who doesn't look at me like I'm about to shatter into a million pieces."

She surprises me by standing up abruptly. Her movements are so quick, the legs of her chair shriek loudly against the linoleum floor.

"Come back around this time tomorrow," she orders tersely. She returns her chair back to its original position. "I haven't been crackin' skulls these past few weeks," she tells me with a casual smile, "so I'm probably due some perks."

My words seem to fail me again and I can only nod. Then Faith hangs up the phone, turns away from me, and exits without a second glance back.

The next day comes all too soon. I can see her through a large plate-glass window getting final instructions or something from a guard. He opens the heavy metal door and we're finally face-to-face for the first time in longer than I can remember.

She's still in prison orange and not wearing any make-up, but her hair looks damp as though it's freshly washed. I can smell the faint scent of bar soap on her. She looks good.

"Hi," I say shyly, not quite able to bring my eyes to meet hers.

"Nice outfit," she grunts.

I feel heat on my cheeks and I awkwardly tug at my skirt. I'm in a peasant skirt, tank top, cardigan, and gladiator sandals. It's a little dressy for a prison visit, and I don't want her getting any funny ideas, but I don't want to look like a slouch either.

"I had to borrow some clothes from Cordelia," I explain. "It's…it's a long story."

We're not exactly the same size anymore (but there's no way I'd ever say that to her face), but I'm grateful to have something besides the jeans and t-shirt I was wearing when I first got into L.A. It strikes me as very strange, and not at all like me, that I would have left Sunnydale without an overnight bag. Even if I wasn't planning on staying long, you'd think I would have at least brought along a toothbrush.

One of the guards chuckles and Faith spins. "Clock's a tickin'," she says angrily. "Where's our room?"

The broad-shouldered man adjusts his gun belt and nods in the direction of a short hallway. "Down there," he says.

I follow the guard down the hallway with Faith close behind. I wonder what she's thinking about. I wonder what she's expecting from this conjugal visit.

The guard lets us into a small room. It's not much to look at. The walls are cold, painted cinderblocks. The linoleum is a dirty off-white color. Only a bed that better resembles a double cot adorns the room.

"Are there cameras in here?" I ask, looking around the space. There aren't any windows or mirrors that could serve as double mirrors, but you never know what kind of perverts run this prison. They could be making money off of inmate porn, you never know.

Faith passes by me, the fabric of her jumpsuit unintentionally brushing against my arm. "Not that I know of," she says in an almost bored tone. She sits down on the bed and grabs onto her knees.

I continue to stand awkwardly in the center of the room. Am I supposed to sit down next to her? Sit on the floor? I don't know what to do with myself.

"Don't worry, B," she chuckles, not unkindly. "They're not gonna know this isn't a _real _conjugal visit."

I can't explain what comes over me next. It's like I have something to prove to her. Something to prove to myself. Before she can react, I'm flying at her and crushing my lips hard against hers. I still don't know what I'm doing, or why I'm doing it though. My hands are everywhere, touching her, but yet it's not enough.

She's obviously surprised by my actions. Hell, _I'm _surprised. She doesn't react, however, until I boldly push my tongue past her lips and into her mouth.

Faith gives out a startled cry. "B," she gasps, pulling away from me, "w-what the fuck are you doin'?"

The crying is almost as unexpected as the kissing. "Please," I sob. "I just…I just need to feel something." I pull at her arms, hoping she'll just touch me even if it repulses her. I feel so needy and pathetic. "I just feel so empty and confused," I cry. "Y-you can't understand what I've been going through the past few days."

Instead of giving in to my pleas, however, she stands up and walks away. Her back is turned to me for a moment before she spins on her heels and faces me. "Try me," she challenges. "We've got time.

I stand up and take a step toward her. I glide my hand up the side of her face and feel her body stiffen. My heart feels like it's going to fall out of my chest. Why does she have to make everything so difficult? I'm literally throwing myself at her and she's denying me? I can't handle any more cruelty or confusion right now.

"I'd rather not waste our time talking about me," I say. My voice is quiet, almost like a mouse. When did I become so timid?

I don't know why I kiss her again. Maybe it's because I know she won't treat me like I'm crazy or fragile or vulnerable. Maybe it's because she reminds me of my hospital staffer. Or maybe I like the orderly so much because she reminds me of Faith. It's too much to think about, and I've had to do far too much thinking lately – it's exhausting. I was never the brain of the operation – research was Giles and Willow's area. I was just the brawn.

I really did have every intension of just talking to her, but now, being here with her, alone, the words fail me, my questions are silenced, and all I want to do is feel comforted. Although she's the last person I'd expect to find comfort from, she doesn't know what's been going on with me lately, and I want to keep it that way. I just need something uncomplicated right now.

Her hands slide down my back, and she pulls me closer. She deepens the kiss and alarms explode in my head. I'm kissing Faith. This isn't some hospital attendant with a penchant for Parcheesi and a warm grin. This is Faith.

She must be one helluva talented kisser though because I feel the air around us shift and the floor starts to slip away from beneath my feet. I feel like I'm falling and her lips are warm and soft and greedy and I'm on fire. I close my eyes because it's all too much; my senses are on overload. If I knew kissing her would feel like this, I would have done it a long time ago.

When I finally open my eyes, I'm no longer in LA. I take that back. I'm in LA, but I'm not in prison with Faith. I'm in the asylum with her look-a-like.

"Y-you're awake," she says, her face looking startled. "I kissed you and you woke up. It's like out of a friggin' fairytale or something."

"Then I guess that makes you my Prince Charming," I respond.

I don't know what I'm doing, but it feels like the right thing to do, so I go back to kissing her and she immediately returns the enthusiastic embrace. Moments later, a startled gasp causes me to break away from those damn addictive lips.

It's Dr. Primrose.

When the doctor's initial shock passes, her face clouds over.

"I told you not to cross that line again," she says in a low tone. She's looking right at my Faith-look-alike. "I warned you not to get involved with Buffy Summers."

I can't help but think that this is one story without a happy ending.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

**April 1, 2002**

I got fired today. Time to get my drink on.

**April 3, 2002**

Employment is overrated. So is paying bills.

**April 6, 2002**

Fuck.

What have I done?

I can't go home. I can't move back to my parents' house. I'd never hear the end of that. I can just hear my Mom bitching at me: "That's what you get for moving to LA and thinkin' you're better than your hometown."

Well guess what, Mom? You were right. I'm trash.

**April 7, 2002**

I can't stop thinking about Buffy. Does that make _me _the crazy one?

**April 8, 2002**

I should do some laundry and take out the trash. There's a sour smelling coming from the kitchen. It's probably all the greasy take-out boxes that have piled up. I should really stop eating out. The money's gonna run out soon if I don't find another job, pronto. And fuck if I'm gonna ask Jarrod for a hand-out. I've never depended on a dude like that, and I'm sure as shit not gonna start now.

Fuck. Why did I have to kiss her?

Why do I get so attracted to damsels in distress?

I know Dr. Primrose warned me. Even now I can't figure out why I did it. Momentary insanity?

She'd been comatose for so long – maybe I was just relieved she'd woken up. Or maybe it was the way the overhead lights danced across her hair and lit up her beautiful, vulnerable face. I gotta stop thinking about her as beautiful. I mean, she _is _beautiful. Achingly so. But that doesn't matter anymore. I fucked up and now I'm facing the consequences.

What am I going to do now? I've got a little cash saved up, but it's not enough to keep me afloat for more than a month. I've never been jobless like this before, and after how I was dismissed, there goes my future as a health care professional.

Maybe I should check out the county morgue. At least then I wouldn't get obsessed with the clients, right?

Tomorrow I've gotta get the paper and check out the classifieds. Yes. That's what I'll do. I'll get up early, actually take a shower, and find myself a job – any job at this point – gotta swallow my pride and work in fast food or something just until something a little more my style comes along.

Yes. Tomorrow is the start of a brand new leaf. A Buffy Summers-less leaf.

**April 9, 2002**

I dreamt about her last night.

Maybe it was the leftover pad thai, or maybe my subconscious really hates me, but my brain decided to replay what happened at the asylum the other day. The fucked up thing is that I _knew _what was going to happen and its consequences, and yet I went ahead and did it again.

At first I thought it was going to be like a Bill Murray _Groundhog Day _thing – I could re-live the situation, but this time do it right. Not be a bonehead. Too bad I'm a horny idiot, even in my dreams.

In the dream I was doing rounds. Ever since Buffy's been comatose, Dr. Primrose had me back on bedpan duty. It surprised me, and made me a little mad, she'd given up on Buffy so soon. She reminded me just how long Buffy had been a patient there, however. She told me that maybe Buffy's latest bout of awareness had been a fluke.

Every time I came to her room, I'd stop and say hi like she was actually awake, a part of me hoping for _some _kind of reaction. Even when I'd leave for the night, I'd stop by her room one last time. It's embarrassing to think about it now.

Dr. P caught me once and I could tell she wanted to say something to me, like "Stop it." But she just hesitated and continued on her rounds without a word of reproach for me.

In the dream, I was just finishing up for the day. I was already changed out of my scrubs and had my jeans and a tank top on. I stopped at her room to say goodnight like I usually did. Usually I'd just hang out in the doorway, but something drew me into her room. I can't explain it – it was just like some presence or some force that beckoned me to go inside her room, near her bed.

Her eyes were closed like she was sleeping, but I knew it wasn't just sleep. I knew her mind was someplace else. I couldn't blame her. I'd probably do the same thing if I was her.

I don't know what spurred me on to kiss her in the first time. Kinda like a Sleeping Beauty moment, but now that I think about it, it was pretty pervy of me to go kissing a comatose woman. I've turned into a total creeper.

But instead of staying asleep like I'd expected, her eyes fluttered open and suddenly she was kissing me back. Her mouth was just so warm and soft and inviting, I wanted to melt into her and never stop.

Fuck. I can't keep thinking about her like this. It isn't healthy.

**April 10, 2002**

She called my apartment today. Buffy.

I'd been out, grabbing the local papers to check out the Classifieds for a new job when she called. I have no idea how she got my number. I can't believe that the hospital would have just given her that information, and I don't think I gave anyone else my landline.

She left a voicemail on my answering machine. The message was brief – she wanted to apologize for what happened. Apologize for getting me fired. She apologized for just about everything except for kissing me. It made me feel good in a 'oh-my-God, I'm-crazy' kind of way like she didn't consider me a mistake or a bad idea.

I could tell she wanted to say more, but there was all kinds of yelling in the background. One of the other patients must have been impatiently waiting for their turn on the phone. She said she'd try to call me later in a breathless, rushed voice. It made me want to sit by the phone so I wouldn't miss her call the next time.

I deleted the message though. I didn't want to go all mopey again, listening to her voicemail again and again, memorizing the sound of her voice, the way she says my name.

But if I'm really gonna move on, I can't do this. I can't sit around and pine over this girl. It's not like she's just in prison, and I only have to wait until her release date. _She's crazy. _She's unbalanced and unstable. It's not even like she's in there because she has an eating disorder that could be managed. She frickin' thinks she's a _superhero_.

I guess it could be worse though, right? At least she's not the villain.

**April 11, 2002**

Buffy called again today, and this time I was actually home when it happened.

When the phone ran, I could literally feel my heart kind of beat faster in my chest. My phone hardly ever rings – the landline, at least – so when I heard its shrill noise, it was as if I _knew _she was calling me again.

We didn't talk about anything specifically; it was really just some small talk – the weather…how her treatment was going…if I'd found a new job yet…stuff like that. By the end of our conversation, however, she started to reveal how she felt like she was slipping away again. How being at the hospital was making things harder for her, especially now that I no longer worked there.

When I asked her what she meant by 'harder', she told me that she felt like she really _was _going crazy – that if she didn't get out of there soon, she'd just go back to Sunnydale.

I tried to give her some bullshit pep talk about everything she had to live for, but I really was just pulling stuff outta my ass. Even I wouldn't have listened to anything I had to say. Cause I mean, anywhere's gotta be better than some insane asylum, right? At least in her own little private world she was like a superhero and had people that cared for her. Here, what did she have to look forward to? Obligatory visits by her family? A lifetime of group therapy and cafeteria food?

And then she asked me The Question: "You don't think that maybe…maybe you could get me out of here, could you?"

I started off with a list of reasons why that wouldn't be good for her _or_ me, but she just sounded so sad, it made me ache all over. I wanted to say yes, but c'mon… breaking a patient out of the asylum? I might as well be helping someone break out of prison. It's trouble with a capital T.

_But she hasn't done any crime_.

I ended the call telling her I'd think about it. Her voice lost some of its pain, but I could tell she didn't really believe me. I'd think about it, yeah…but when a chick says that, it basically means 'No.' Believe me, I've heard that excuse enough to know what it really means.

**April 12, 2002**

I've made up my mind. Forget about everything I said yesterday. I'm gonna bust her out of there. Now all I need is a plan.

**POV: None**

The blonde girl stared anxiously at the door. She wasn't sure how Faith was going to gain entrance to the hospital, but knowing the Bostonian, it would be dramatic and violent.

Buffy shut her eyes and shook her head. No, that was wrong. Her name wasn't Faith. It wasn't her. They weren't the same.

The past few evenings, the California girl had been pretending to take her medicine. One of the other patients, a bulemic named Margie, had taught her the trick. Margie – what an unfortunate name. No wonder the girl felt fat.

The door to Buffy's room swung open and the blonde held her breath. She released the breath, however, when she realized it wasn't the orderly. It was just her doctor, Dr. Primrose.

The shorthaired physician gave Buffy a warm smile as she entered the room and closed the door behind her. She wordlessly crossed the room and sat next to Buffy's bed in the chair normally reserved for Faith. No, not Faith. Someone else.

"So," Dr. Primrose began. She drew in a great breath. "Let's talk about what happened the other night."

Buffy frowned. "I don't know what you're referring to."

The doctor gave her patient a conspiratorial smile. "So you're saying you don't remember kissing that girl?"

"Oh," the blonde said flatly. "That."

"Yes. That. Why Buffy?"

The Californian opened her mouth, but realized she had no easy answer. Or at least one that didn't make her sound crazier than she already felt. She shut her jaw and averted her gaze.

Dr. Primrose leaned forward in her chair to engage the young woman. "I know she reminds you of someone. Who is that person?"

"Faith." The name got caught in Buffy's throat.

"Yes, Faith." Dr. Primrose leaned back and crossed her legs. "She's another slayer like you in Sunnydale, right?"

Buffy nodded, not looking at the doctor.

"Are you in love with Faith in your imagined world, Buffy?"

"No!" The word came out harsh and violent, but Dr. Primrose didn't seem affected by the intensity of Buffy's answer.

The doctor pursed her lips and looked down at the pad of paper on her lap. "Then why did you kiss the girl who reminds you of her?"

Buffy shrugged helplessly and sighed.

"Do you want to know what _I _think?" Dr. Primrose tapped at the paper with the eraser of her pencil.

Buffy lifted her shoulders again and let them fall.

"I think," the doctor began, undeterred by the blonde's mime routine, "that you're trying to hold onto something familiar. The real world can be confusing. It's bright. It's loud. And you haven't really lived here for the past size years. You've been playing out a fantasy inside your head."

"This girl, who randomly came into your life," she continued, "perhaps reminds you of Sunnydale – your mystical world where you're in control. And maybe she even looks a little like your Faith."

"She looks _exactly _like Faith," Buffy interrupted.

Dr. Primrose returned the rudeness with a patient smile. "Be that as it may, I think your fear of letting go of Sunnydale manifested itself into a physical attraction."

"You fired her." It wasn't a question or an accusation from the blonde woman, however. Just a statement.

"Yes," Dr. Primrose frowned. "And I was loath to do it, too. But, it's for the best," she reasoned. "Now you can get better without her here to cling to."

Buffy frowned. "Now I can get better," she echoed carefully.

Dr. Primrose patted the blonde patient's knee and stood from her seat. She stretched her legs and looked at the digital clock on Buffy's bedside table. "It's late," she observed. "You should get some sleep. We can talk more about this tomorrow morning in group therapy."

Buffy sat on her bed after the doctor exited and thought about what Dr. Primrose had said. She had fun with the orderly – they played board games together, and she was one of the only people here who treated her like a normal person – like she wasn't crazy or fragile or dumb. Naturally she would harbor positive feelings for the young employee because of this, but why had she _kissed _her? Why did she _want _to be kissed by this girl? Plus, the orderly looked too much like Faith for it to be a coincidence.

Buffy pressed her palm into her forehead and closed her eyes. She just needed to get away from this hospital so she could make some sense of it all. As if on cue, the sound of tapping on glass alerted the blonde and dragged her out of her thoughts.

The beaming smile of the former hospital staffer gazed at her through the closed window. Buffy hopped off her bed and rushed over to the windowpane. She unlocked the bolts and opened it as far as it would go – which wasn't much. The windows in patients' rooms only opened to let in a slight breeze, nothing more.

"You ready to go?" the former employee grinned.

Buffy hesitated near the window. If she left with this Faith-look-alike, it would mean the end of her treatments. Maybe then she could finally sort out her brain without constantly getting pumped full of medicines. But leaving the hospital like this probably meant the end of her parents' support, as well. She couldn't imagine, after all she'd put them through, that they'd ever re-welcome her with open arms. She would be severing all ties to her LA-past for an unknown future.

"I'm ready," the blonde agreed.

"You can't get out this window and it's not like you can just waltz out the front door either. You need to get to the group bathhouse. Do you remember how to get there?"

An image of the sunny, yet clinical bathroom flashed through Buffy's head. The girl nodded.

"Okay. I'll meet you over there. I had a friend make sure one of the window bolts was left unlocked."

"_A friend? Who would risk their job to help a patient escape? How much of their plan did this other person know?" _Buffy silently wondered.

"Are you _sure _you're ready to do this?" the dark-haired girl whispered, sensing the other woman's reticence.

Buffy swallowed and nodded. "Yes. I'm ready," she said once again.

Buffy slipped into the white sneakers she found at the bottom of her closet. She briefly scanned the contents for anything she would need. The last time she'd left home like this, she'd just killed Angel and her mom had basically kicked her out of the house. She wouldn't be able to pack a bag like last time, though. Hefting a suitcase on her way to the bathroom would certainly call too much attention to herself, even in an asylum. Still in her pajamas, Buffy grabbed a zip-up hooded sweatshirt. A little layering would be fine, she reasoned.

Buffy took a final glance at her room before leaving. This would be the last time she saw the inside of this room, one way or another. Either she'd successfully escape the hospital, or she'd get caught and retreat back inside her mind – back to Sunnydale.

The blonde opened her bedroom door and cautiously looked both ways. Not many other patients or staffers stood in the hallway. With the late hour, most were asleep and the hospital was staffed by only a skeleton crew.

Buffy carefully closed her bedroom door closed, so that anyone on rounds wouldn't immediately notice her absence. No one looked in her direction as she walked away from the closed door. There was nothing unusual, after all, about a patient leaving her room to go to the bathroom.

When she reached the group bathroom, she breathed a sigh of relief to find it empty. Her break-out would have been infinitely more difficult if another patient had been in the room. At least everyone here was crazy though; Buffy could have probably explained away the orderly's presence to another patient just like she'd explained away the demons in Sunnydale to its townsfolk.

Buffy heard a noise at one of the large bathroom windows, high above the group of sinks. One of the windowpanes popped open, and slid away horizontally to reveal the former hospital employee.

Buffy waved at the woman, but then stopped, feeling awkward and foolish.

"Quickly and quietly," the attractive brunette instructed in a serious tone. "You gotta hop up on the sinks, and I'll pull you out."

"How did you get up there?" Buffy questioned, looking up at the orderly.

The girl flashed the blonde patient a quick smile. "Ladder. The grounds-crew are always sloppy about leaving their tools out."

Buffy sucked in a quick breath and then nimbly climbed on top of the porcelain sinks, careful not to slip on the potentially slick material. She reached up with both hands toward the open window, and the Faith-look-alike grabbed onto her wrists to pull her up.

"C'mon," the brunette grunted, looking visibly flustered. "You're still not free yet."

Buffy looked at her rescuer with her head cocked to one side. "I don't think I'll ever be free."

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13: Gratitude**

"Home sweet, home," the former hospital staffer announced.

Buffy gladly shuffled into the apartment behind the taller woman. The hallway of the complex smelled like Indian food and bad body odor.

The Faith look-a-like deadbolted the door behind them and attached the security chain. "Make yourself at home," she lightly instructed.

The blonde girl wandered further into the apartment, casting her eyes around the space and assessing the damage. She'd never even thought to ask how big of an apartment the other girl had, or where the orderly even lived. All she could think about was freedom.

After Faith's doppelganger had pulled her from the bathroom windows at the asylum, the two had tromped across the hospital grounds with only pale moonlight guiding their way. Running through darkness wasn't new for Buffy, however. She'd spent a good portion of her teen years in ill-lit cemeteries – or at least she _thought _she did. She hoped once she gained some distance from the insane asylum, everything would become clearer.

The brunette girl's home wasn't too bad, Buffy had to admit. She was sure the orderlies at the hospital didn't make much money, and the apartment's size was evidence of that. But what it lacked in space and vaulted ceilings, it made up for in comfort.

Just off the front entrance was the living room. A red oversized couch, easy chair, glass coffee table, and flat-panel television filled the small room. The off-white walls were bare besides a movie poster for a film Buffy had never heard of.

The front room opened out into a slightly larger eat-in-kitchen. The two-person table looked more like an office space, however, with piles of papers and a laptop cluttering the top. The kitchen appliances were older, but serviceable. The linoleum floor left much to be desired, but it was clean and wasn't peeling at the edges. Buffy couldn't see beyond the kitchen, but she assumed at least one bathroom and bedroom existed down the dark, narrow hallway.

Not wanting to venture any further into the apartment without an invitation from the brunette, Buffy took a seat in the living room on the large couch. She sank into the cushions and gave a small groan; it was the kind of furniture that once you sat down, you had a hard time ever leaving.

Faith's twin stood awkwardly in the kitchen, distancing herself from the blonde girl.

"Uh, can I get you something to eat?" she called out, scratching the back of her neck. She proceeded to open the fridge and peer in at what little food remained. "I don't have much here," she admitted, "but I'm sure I could whip you up a grilled cheese sandwich or something."

She closed the door with a sigh and rubbed at the bridge of her nose. "I should have gone shopping before. I'm not so good with planning ahead. I tried to pick up the apartment a little though."

Buffy looked around the living room. It was sparsely decorated; she couldn't imagine it ever being too cluttered. "Everything looks fine to me," she reassured the anxious girl.

The orderly began rifling through a few kitchen cabinets. Pots and pans rattled against each other, filling the apartment with obnoxious noises. She didn't know what to do with herself now that Buffy was actually here; she needed to do _something _though.

"Why don't you sit down?" Buffy suggested, patting the space next to her on the over-stuffed couch. "You're starting to make _me _nervous."

"I'm sorry," the brunette woman sighed, leaving the kitchen area for the living room. "I-I've never done anything like this before."

The woman made her way to the couch and sat down beside the former asylum patient.

"I'm not exactly a pro at breaking out of hospitals either," Buffy pointed out.

The brunette clasped her hands to her knees to keep her body from erratically ticking. "I feel like a bad hostess. Are you sure I can't get you anything?" she asked, standing up once again.

Buffy gave the woman a half-smile. "I wouldn't mind some other clothes. And maybe a shower?" She lifted up one arm. "I'm feeling kind of ripe."

"Oh, right! Totally," the other girl burst out nervously.

The blonde stood up from the couch. "Thanks," she acknowledged. "I just need to get out of these hospital clothes…wash away the scent of that place from my hair. I'll feel more human in a bit."

The orderly nodded her understanding and led Buffy towards the small apartment bathroom. It was just big enough for a pedestal sink, toilet, and stand-up shower.

"I don't have to pay for water or utilities, so feel free to take as long and as hot of a shower as you want," the brunette offered. She opened the door to a hallway closet and grabbed a fresh towel from a small stack. "I'll just be in the next room if you need anything," she stated, handing the towel to the blonde woman.

Buffy allowed herself a small smile. "Thanks," she said quietly, feeling a little out of sorts for the first time.

After the adrenaline rush of escaping the asylum, the realization of what was going on was starting to hit her. She had nothing. No belongings. No identification cards. No money. All she had were the clothes on her back – which were property of the asylum – and a shred of sanity.

As if reading her mind, the orderly spoke up. "I know it feels like things are kind of…out of control right now, Buffy, but we'll figure this thing out together. Take your shower," she said, nodding towards the open bathroom door. "I'll still be right here when you get out."

Buffy rewarded her heroine with a watery smile. "Thanks," she croaked. "I'll be out in a little bit."

After a handful of tense minutes, the brunette woman finally calmed herself down. She sat at the edge of her mattress and tried to not think about the crazy, albeit beautiful, girl now taking a shower in her bathroom. She tried not to think about what would happen if the hospital figured out it was her who had helped Buffy escape from the asylum. It was only a matter of time before Dr. Primrose questioned her, she reasoned. Buffy had disappeared little under a week after she'd been fired from the hospital – it had to be too much of a coincidence for the asylum doctor not to make a connection.

Her body stiffened when she heard the water shut off in the bathroom. Moments later, Buffy stepped out of the bathroom door, followed by a gust of steamed air. The blonde hesitated in the hallway momentarily before heading towards where she had earlier assumed was a bedroom.

Buffy padded into the carpeted bedroom, a large fluffly towel wrapped tightly around her slight form. The golden-haired woman smiled shyly at the other girl who remained seated at the edge of her bed, chewing on her thumbnail.

"I was wondering if I could borrow some pajamas," Buffy asked. "I really don't feel like putting those hospital clothes back on."

The orderly hopped up abruptly from the bed. "Yeah, sure thing," she exclaimed.

She briskly walked to a set of dresser-drawers on the far side of the room; she rummaged through the second drawer, looking for a comfortable t-shirt and shorts ensemble for the smaller woman.

After a moment, satisfied that the clothes she had picked out would embarrass neither herself nor Buffy, the orderly turned back to the blonde woman. Her eyes bulged at the site of Buffy without a towel on. With her back turned, the golden-haired woman had dropped the only material covering her body.

Buffy stepped out of the towel pooled around her ankles. She carefully closed the distance between herself and Faith's twin, one foot in front of the other, as if worried a sudden movement might frighten off the other woman.

The brunette woman choked on her tongue. Unable to use her mouth, she was only able to manage a pitiful gurgling noise. Finally, the Faith-look-alike was able to find her voice: "Buffy, I don't want to take advantage of you," she started quietly. "You know you don't have to…"

"You're not taking advantage of anything," Buffy assured the other woman. The blonde touched her hand to the taller woman's face. She stroked the pad of her thumb along the brunette's jawline. "I'm grateful to you, but that's not why I want to do this."

The taller woman cleared her throat. "And just to make sure we're both on the same page …"this" is sex, right?"

Buffy pursed her lips. "It's certainly not baking a cake."

"If you don't feel like you owe me something, then why with the nakedness?"

Buffy cocked her head to the side. "I'm honestly not sure," she admitted. "But how about you leave the thinking up to me on this one?"

Buffy awoke to the sound of metal crashing outside. She sat up abruptly in bed and squinted into the morning sunlight streaming through the slats of the blinded windows. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the bright light, and she took a moment to orient herself. She was still in LA – no longer at the hospital, but in the modest-sized apartment of her Faith look-a-like.

More grinding and loud, abrasive noises came from outside. Buffy climbed out of bed and looked through the slats of the blinds on one side of the bedroom. Outside on the ground level a large garbage truck was picking up overstuffed dumpsters and dumping the contents into the rear-bed of the municipal vehicle.

"Nothing like the sound of garbage in the morning, huh?" came a familiar throaty voice.

Buffy spun to see the hospital orderly enter the bedroom. Her long, brunette hair was back in a messy ponytail. She wore a grey cotton tank-top that hugged at her bra-less breasts and a pair of light blue scrub pants. In her hands was a tray, upon which was a fragrant breakfast.

"What's that?" the California blonde asked, suddenly feeling shy to have woken up in this woman's bedroom.

It was unlike her to jump into a sexual relationship with someone so soon after meeting them. The last time she'd been so impulsive had been with Parker, and that certainly hadn't ended well. She forgave herself for this moment of slutty spontaneity, however. She'd just been through an ordeal, after all.

The girl cleared her throat. "It's just, uh, I thought you might be hungry after…everything…last night. I know that _I_ worked up one helluva appetite."

Buffy grinned. "You brought me breakfast in bed?"

The taller woman visibly blushed and her eyes dropped to the floor. Buffy cocked her head and admired the other girl. She'd never seen Faith redden. Then again, she'd never known Faith to ever get embarrassed - that woman seemed unflappable. The vulnerability and openness of her near-twin was overwhelmingly endearing.

Buffy left the window-sill and flopped back onto the double bed. She pulled the duvet cover around her legs and sat with her back against the headboard.

"Mmmm," Buffy approved, eagerly biting into a perfectly-toasted slice of bread. "I could get used to this."

Her brunette partner chuckled. "Well, if you ever want to eat again, I gotta go to the grocery store today."

Buffy's eyes lit up with excitement. "Oh! Can I come along?"

The brunette woman hesitated.

"I'm not going to cause a scene, you know," the California girl noted in a tone tinted with annoyance. "You _can _take me out in public."

"It's not that," the taller woman insisted. "I just don't want people to see your picture on a milk carton and make the connection, you know?"

Buffy's smile flipped upside down. "I don't want to hide for the rest of my life. I'd rather go back to the asylum."

"Maybe we oughta move to another city or something," her heroine suggested.

"My head hurts," Buffy complained. The Californian dropped her head into her hands. "There's too much thinking and decision making going on right now." She looked up at the brunette. "How about we go shopping and _then _we can talk more about this?"

"I mean, it's not like you don't exist," the brunette pointed out as she loaded the last of their grocery bags into the back of her compact car. "You've gotta have a social security card floating around somewhere. I bet I could even get Chris or somebody to lift it from the hospital. That's all you really need to get back on your feet."

Buffy looked thoughtful as she climbed into the passenger side. "That's true," she agreed. "I never got a drivers license when I was in high school, but in a city as big as LA, there's always the bus."

"Or I could always give you a lift where you needed to go," the female orderly offered helpfully as she started up the small vehicle. She shifted the vehicle out of park and turned out of the grocery store parking lot.

"I could get a job to help out with rent," the blonde noted wistfully. She looked out the passenger-side window as the city of Los Angeles streamed by.

"You have any special skills?" the orderly asked as she cautiously pulled into a busy intersection.

"Besides demon killing?"

The features on the brunette's face clouded over at the suggestion.

"Just kidding!" Buffy blurted out. "I was a waitress once," she added. "I bet I could wait tables someplace."

Even if she had only _imagined _running away from Sunnydale after killing Angel to save the world, she still had the _memory _of being a waitress in Los Angeles. The innate skills still had to be there, right?

It hadn't been the most glamorous job, but maybe she could work her way up the ranks and eventually work at some fancy Hollywood restaurant frequented by wealthy celebrities.

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea," the former hospital employee nodded in approval. The car rolled to a stop at a red light.

Buffy leaned across the center consol and kissed the side of the other woman's lips.

"What as that for?" the brunette woman asked, slightly taken aback.

"For being so sweet about everything," Buffy replied, showing off a dazzling smile. "Talking this through really has made me feel better. Like…like starting my life all over is totally do-able."

The car's driver smiled warmly and grasped Buffy's hand as they continued to sit idly at the red-stop light. "Anytime, cutie."

Buffy leaned across the center console again and stroked her free hand along the side of the brunette's face. "Let's get back to your place," she murmured. "I want to thank you properly."

The two women continued to gaze into each other's eyes…not noticing the semi-truck barreling through the four-way intersection.

Buffy awoke to the sound of rhythmic beeping.

Her eyes slowly fluttered open. When her pupils adjusted to the bright light streaming through the windows, she noticed that the wallpaper was all wrong.

The blonde momentarily panicked when she saw the various hospital machines she was plugged into. She jerked her head around, trying to better gauge where she was. The last thing she remembered was looking into the hospital staffer's dark, chocolate eyes. And then a bright white light had flooded her sight as her body was filled with pain and the sound of metal crunching filled her ears.

Buffy sat up as much as the various IVs and cords connected to her body would allow. She noticed a woman sitting in the corner of the room with her. Her head was bent down as she read a glossy magazine, obscuring a clear view of her face.

"Willow?" Her mouth felt dry and sore.

The redhead's eyes snapped up from the article she'd been reading.

"Oh my God." The powerful Wicca jumped out of her chair and rushed over to Buffy's bedside. "I don't believe it. You're awake! You're really awake!"

"Willow?" the Chosen One tried again, her tongue and throat working on the word.

The former computer nerd rushed out of Buffy's room. "We need a doctor in here!" she called out. "Buffy's awake!"

The blonde slayer felt groggy and discombobulated, but slowly her brain began to connect the pieces. She was back in Sunnydale. She was in a hospital. Something had happened in LA to involuntarily jolt her back to this reality.

When the redhead returned to the hospital room, panic set in.

"No. You're not real." Buffy sat up straighter in bed and began haphazardly pulling at the wires connected to her body like a marionette puppet. Her skin stretched where medical tape attached electrodes, and she felt pricks of pain as needles forcibly exited her veins.

"No. Not real," she repeated anxiously. "This isn't real."

"Buffy. Just calm down," the witch cautioned. "Everything is going to be okay now."

The sound of a toilet flushing in the adjoining bathroom caused the blonde to bristle. Her hands clutched at the top of her sheets.

A brunette woman dressed in dark denim and a red top walked out of the bathroom. She dried her hands on the backside of her jeans.

A small gasp caught in the back of Buffy's throat when she saw the newcomer's features, and the panic she had once felt quickly dissolved. "Baby?" she squeaked out hopefully. "Is that you?"

Faith's face revealed her surprise, and she looked around the room, confused to whom Buffy was talking. She pointed a finger at her own chest and raised an eyebrow.

"Who? Me?"

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

Faith stared at Willow. "Fuck, Red. Why is she calling me 'baby'? Does she have brain damage or something?"

Willow glanced anxiously between the two slayers, one bedridden, the other bemused.

"Buffy," she started slowly, as if talking to a child. "This is Faith. You _do _remember Faith, don't you?"

The Chosen One tore her eyes away from the woman who looked so much like her hospital orderly. Or maybe it was the orderly who looked so much like Faith. "Of _course _I remember Faith. How could I forget a psycho like her?"

The Boston girl looked smug. "From what I hear, I ain't the only slayer who's psycho these days."

"What did you tell her?" the blonde nearly shrieked, glaring at her red-haired friend.

Willow coughed uncomfortably. This hadn't exactly been the reunion she'd been imaging for so long. "Just that, uh, before you went into your coma you were having a hard time figuring out what was real, and what was just in your mind."

Buffy blinked a few times at her friend. "Coma? I was in a coma?"

Willow nodded. "That's why you're in the hospital, Buffy."

"Well that might explain one thing, but why is _she _here?" Buffy asked, pointing at the dark-haired slayer. "Why isn't she in prison where she belongs?"

"I live here!" Faith blurted out. "Well, not in the hospital," she back peddled. Her face regained its former defiance. "A lot's changed since you've been gone, Blondie. You'd better get used to it or go back to sleep."

Buffy glared at Faith and then back at Willow. "How long, Willow?" she demanded in a voice hoarse from nonuse. "How long have I been out?"

The red-haired girl looked down at her hands. "Buffy," she mumbled. "Don't you think you should wait a while to get acclimated? I mean, you only just woke up."

"How long?" Buffy nearly screamed.

Willow sucked in a sharp breath. "Three years." She looked at her best friend, her eyes full of remorse. "You've been in a coma for three years."

"I think you killed her," Faith deadpanned.

"I did not," Willow insisted.

"You shouldn't have told her like that."

"But she _asked_," the redhead pointed out.

"I still say you killed her," Faith repeated. "Look at that face she's making."

Willow blew out a frustrated gust of air. "I didn't kill her!"

"Uh, guys, right here in the room," Buffy said, waving a hand. "Not deaf, either."

Willow looked at the blonde and her face registered confusion briefly. "I'm sorry, Buffy. I guess we just got used to you being in here, but not really being _here."_

Buffy felt tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You visited me a lot?"

The redhead nodded. "You've actually never been alone since it happened," she admitted. "We go in shifts."

Buffy's eyebrows rose. "Who's _we_?"

"Oh, everyone," Willow said vaguely. "There's a master schedule." The witch beamed as if proud of herself.

Buffy glared at the dark-haired slayer. "Even _you _visited me?"

Faith scowled. "Yeah…can't defy the schedule," she grumbled. "Or Willow."

"Faith was just about to relieve me," Willow piped in helpfully. "That's why we're both here."

The Boston girl jerked her head toward the door. "Yea, Red. So scoot," she ordered. "My time to watch over the patient now."

"I'm gonna stay." Willow touched Faith's hand. "I should talk to her alone, Faith," she said in a hushed tone. "There's going to be a lot for her to process."

Faith nodded knowingly. "Alright. Better you than me, I guess." She glanced fleetingly at the bed-ridden slayer and gave her a pained smile. "Uh, glad you're awake, B." The brunette shuffled towards the door and gave a curt wave. "I'll, um, be seeing you."

When Faith was gone, Buffy turned her glance to her best friend who remained standing near her bed. "If you tell me that you and Faith are dating," she said in all seriousness, "just hit me over the head and make me go in a coma again."

Willow's face revealed her confusion. "Dating? What? Why would you think…"

"All the hand touching?" Buffy interrupted. "All the none-killing each other?"

"Oh, well, we're friends now, Buffy," the other woman said simply. Willow took a deep breath. "There's….a lot to tell you. But I should probably wait until the doctor comes in and checks on you."

Buffy shook her head stubbornly. "I want to know. I _need _to know."

The redhead nodded grimly. She sat down in the chair near the eldest slayer's bed. "Well, I guess for starters, you're not the only slayer anymore."

Buffy's forehead scrunched. "Willow, I haven't been in a coma for _that _long. I _do _remember Kendra and Faith."

"That's not what I mean," the witch said, shaking her head. "You and Faith aren't the only ones."

Buffy sat up straighter in bed. "Did _Faith _die, too?" she asked. "Did she die in prison and they let her out to bury her, and then you brought her back to life?"

Willow allowed herself a small laugh. In her absence, she'd nearly forgotten how Buffy's brain often jumped to radical conclusions. "Nothing so dramatic, I'm afraid. Well," she paused and looked thoughtful. "It actually _was _kind of cool. But Faith didn't die. She broke out of prison when Angelus came back."

"Angelus?"

Willow sighed deeply. "I forgot how much _stuff _happened while you were sleeping."

"Well?" Buffy said impatiently. "Not getting any younger."

"There was a Big Bad in LA," the witch continued on. "He called himself 'The Beast.'

"That's kind of…lame," Buffy remarked.

"Lame name, but he was tough," Willow noted. "Angel thought only Angelus could defeat him. And he did – but then we had Angelus to deal with and no active slayer with you in a coma and Faith incarcerated. So Faith broke out of prison to help."

"And she's just romping around free now?" Buffy asked incredulously.

Willow looked a little exasperated with her friend. "She could have gone back to prison afterwards, but we all realized she could do more good out of prison than back in her cell. She volunteered to go back, but we all insisted she stay."

Buffy was quiet for a moment. "Did she kill Angel?"

The Wicca shook her head and a small frown fluttered on her lips, remembering. "No…but Angelus bust her up pretty badly. She put drugs in her system and let him drink from her. The drugs made him weak enough that we could capture him and return his soul."

The blonde woman touched the ever-present scars on her neck. Where Angel had drank from her when Faith had poisoned him. It was funny how things often came full circle.

"So, um, what's up with the multiple slayer thing?" Buffy asked. As much as she wanted to know every detail about everything she missed, talking about Faith so much made her uneasy. "Are there three of us now?"

Willow grimaced, wondering how she should break the news. "No…um…it's kind of a long story, but now there's about 2,000 slayers."

Buffy blinked a few times. "You're kidding me."

"Nope. We had to fight a Big Bad, the Baddest of them all, actually. And in order to beat down The First and Its army of uber-vamps, I used this mystical scythe to turn all the Potential Slayers in the world into real, juiced-up slayers."

"I think I need to lay down," Buffy mumbled.

"You _are _laying down," the talented Wicca pointed out.

"Oh. Right." Buffy grimaced. "Well, maybe a jello cup or something. I'm feeling a little…weak."

Willow immediately hopped up from her seat. "I knew it was too much too soon," she said as way of apology. "I'm gonna find out what's taking that doctor so long. I'll be right back."

The red-haired woman rushed out of the small room into the hallway. Buffy could hear her friend's voice calling for a doctor or a nurse.

Turning away from the doorway, Buffy sighed and stared out the hospital room window. Outside the sun was shining and it beat through the window pane, spilling its warmth onto Buffy's skin.

She wondered what the world was like now, armed with thousands of slayers instead of just one…or two. Would she be able to tell who the other slayers were just by looking at them? Would she be able to feel them like she could always feel Faith?

Buffy scrutinized the various people milling around outside, enjoying the weather. Were any of _them_ slayers? She watched couples holding hands and walking cautiously across icy patches on the sidewalk and crunched through tall snowdrifts.

Wait a minute….snow?

"Willow!"

Buffy drank from her water cup through a white bendy straw. "So there _is _no Sunnydale?"

"There _used _to be a Sunnydale, but now it's just a crater in the Earth." Willow rubbed at her temples. Maybe she should have brought in a whiteboard to draw everything out. She oddly missed Andrew at this moment.

After a brief visit by the attending doctor, Buffy had insisted that Willow continue catching her up on everything that had happened over the past three years – starting with why there was snow on the ground.

"And tell me again why I'm in Cleveland?" Buffy asked slowly, letting the name of the city roll around on her tongue.

"When we were fighting the First, we knew there was a good chance Sunnydale would get blown up. So you were medically transferred to Los Angeles. Angel and his crew looked after you and when we all moved to Cleveland, the Other Hellmouth, you came with us."

There was a knock at the door and both women turned at the sound. A comically large bouquet of flowers with a half dozen helium-filled balloons entered the room. Two women followed behind.

Buffy's eyes filled with tears. "Tara? Dawnie?"

The blonde-haired witch set the vase of flowers and assorted balloons on a table in the corner of the room. "Hey there, stranger," she beamed, tucking an errant lock of hair behind one ear. "You certainly had us worried."

She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around the hospitalized slayer and gave her a gentle hug. Buffy knew she was crying on Tara's shoulder, but she didn't care. She felt like she hadn't seen her friends and family in years – which she was quickly learning, it had in fact been multiple years.

Dawn hovered near the doorway. As excited as she had been to hear the news that her sister was awake, she was still worried. "Is…is she okay?" she asked to no one in particular. "Does she think we're all real again?"

"Dawn, sweetie," Willow coaxed. "Say hello to your sister."

Dawn took a tentative step toward the slayer's bedside. Although everyone else had shared the responsibility of staying with Buffy while she had been comatose, after a few months of inactivity, Dawn was unable to bring herself to the hospital anymore. It had been easier to think of her sister as dead – as just another casualty to Life. Willow gave her updates all the time, but she hadn't been back to see her in the flesh in over two years.

The room was silent as the two sisters looked at each other.

"You got tall," Buffy remarked, regarding her younger sister.

"You got pale," Dawn countered, not coming any closer.

"Being in a hospital does that to a person," the blonde slayer remarked.

Dawn crossed her arms across her chest and stomped an impatient foot. She stared critically at her sister. "Are you going to freak out and pretend like all this isn't real and leave me again?"

"Don't plan on it," Buffy said truthfully. Although in some ways she had chosen the alternate universe over Sunnydale, seeing all these smiling, familiar faces was a welcomed change. She'd need some time to process all these changes, but in the meantime she just wanted to enjoy being with her friends and family again.

Her slayer senses dulled from inactivity, Buffy was unprepared when Dawn threw herself on her sister. She wrapped her arms tightly around the smaller woman's form, and squeezed her tight.

"Haven't moved my body in three years," Buffy gasped. "Still fragile."

"Oh!" Dawn blustered, immediately releasing her bear hug. "I never thought I'd be stronger than you."

"Don't get used to it," Buffy laughed, playfully slugging her sister in the shoulder. "I'll get stronger soon enough."

Willow looked confused about something. "How did you know she was awake?" she asked, turning to her girlfriend. "I wasn't going to call anyone until the doctors said she was stable enough for more visitors."

Another figure walked into the rapidly crowding room. Faith looked a little embarrassed to be back at the hospital. "Figured the rest of the family would wanna be in on this little reunion," she said, shrugging.

"That was really thoughtful of you, Faith," Willow observed. She looked anxiously between the blonde and the brunette slayers. There was an unstated tension back in the room with the Chosen Two present once again. She could literally see magnetic energy waves pulsating from the slayers.

"So who else lives in Cleveland? Giles? Xander? Anyone else I know?" Buffy asked, settling back on the pillows in her hospital bed. Dawn snuggled happily next to her.

"Giles and Xander are both in Scotland overseeing the European Slayer-cells," Dawn informed her sister. "But there's like a ton of other people here in Cleveland though – there's even a Slayer school for the younger girls."

"You'll get a chance to meet them all, Buffy. Don't worry," Willow noted with a smile. "All the new slayers know all about you, and they'll be really excited to meet you."

Faith snorted and leaned against the door jam. "Excited? That's like Understatement of the Year. You're like a frickin' legend, Blondie. There's a whole week worth of lectures in Slayer history just on you."

"Really?" Buffy's eyes lit up. "Are there textbooks? Am I in a textbook?"

Tara laughed, filling the room with her warmth. "Not yet, sweetie, but you keep pulling miracles like you did today, and someone is bound to fill up an entire book about you."

The blonde wicca looked at her watch. "Oh," she murmured. "I hadn't realized it had gotten so late." She looked at Dawn who was looking painfully comfortable to be reunited with her sister. "Dawnie, I hate to say it," she said gently, "but we should probably be getting you back. Don't you have a big exam or something today?"

The younger Summers girl made a face. "Ugh, don't remind me."

Buffy looked curious. "_You're _not at the Slayer-school, are you?"

Dawn laughed. "No, I'm in college at Case Western. I've got a biology exam today."

"College?" Buffy repeated, looking impressed.

The younger girl shrugged nonchalantly. "Yeah, I got old."

"Well get back to class then!" Buffy insisted. "I don't want you dropping out of college like I did."

The teen smirked. "Well, you couldn't help it. You had to Save the World. Plus, UC-Sunnydale doesn't even _exist _anymore."

"C'mon you chatter bugs," Faith interrupted the two sisters. "The meter's running."

Dawn nodded once to acknowledge the Boston slayer. She gave her sister another, less crushing hug. "I'll be back after my test," she murmured into Buffy's ear. She squeezed the slayer. "I missed you."

Buffy could feel the tears start to prick at the corners of her eyes again. "I missed you, too, Dawnie."

After Dawn, Tara, and Faith left the room, Willow and Buffy were alone once again.

"I can't believe she got so big," Buffy sighed wistfully. "She's a college girl now…probably has a ton of boyfriends…."

"In other news," Willow started, turning her attention back to the bed-ridden slayer,  
>"why did you call Faith 'baby' when you first woke up?" A small, playful smile fluttered onto the witch's lips.<p>

Buffy reddened. "Oh…you remembered that, huh?"

"It's the kind of thing you notice," Willow remarked.

Buffy's face contorted. "Uh, I guess I was just confused. It's nothing really." Her voice cracked on the words.

Willow looked unimpressed, knowing there was more to it. But Buffy had been through quite an emotional and mental rollercoaster for one day, so she'd let it slide…for now.

"So when do I get to leave this place?" Buffy asked, carefully picking at the IVs that still connected her to an assortment of monitoring devices. "I've spent far too much time in hospitals lately."

"The doctors want you here just a little longer to monitor your vitals and check your brain activity," her friend said. "They're actually all a little surprised and impressed that you bounced out of your coma so…effortlessly. Plus, you're going to need some physical therapy. You haven't used your muscles in three years…it'll take some time to get you back to normal."

"But not a lot of time, right?" the blonde woman asked hopefully. "Because I'm a slayer?"

Willow patted the other woman's hand. "I'm sure that'll help, but you still need to be patient, Buff."

The California-born slayer sighed deeply. Amongst all the changes, one thing remained a constant – she still wasn't free.

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

A girl with pitch-black hair ran into the study library. "Did you hear?" she nearly panted to a brunette sitting by herself. "She's awake!"

The Asian girl's overly loud voice interrupted three girls studying for their Demonology exam at an adjacent table. They shushed the intrusive girl and threw icy glances in her direction.

"Sorry," the woman apologized, her face pinking with embarrassment.

The blustering of her friend pulled a quiet chuckle from Kennedy. She put down her glossy magazine. "Well hello to you, too, Satsu," she joked. "Now what's so important that you had to interrupt me? I was just catching up on William and Kate news."

"She's awake!" Satsu whispered shrilly. She practically bounced in place.

Kennedy raised an eyebrow. She'd rarely seen her friend this excited. "Who?"

"Buffy Summers."

The brunette slayer rolled her eyes.

Although Satsu had only started attending the Slayer Academy a few short months ago, she had instantly become obsessed with the Chosen One after taking the obligatory Slayer history course.

"I should have known," Kennedy complained. "Not like you talk about anyone else."

The Asian slayer pouted. "She's important, so why shouldn't I be interested? I mean, she and Ms. Lehane were the last Slayers Chosen by the Fates."

"If you want my advice, Sats. Get her outta your head." Kennedy looked longingly out the library window where a group of women walked across the slayer campus – one of whom included a red-haired witch. "The Originals might as well be Royalty," she sighed. "We don't stand a chance."

Buffy awoke the next morning to see a nurse checking her vitals. When the hospital staffer noticed her patient was awake, she smiled.

"Well, good morning," she greeted in a gentle voice. It was the kind of voice that was so velvety, it was almost a purr. Buffy felt immediately at ease.

Buffy pulled herself to a seated position and was surprised that the simple action put a strain on her forearms and triceps. The realization that bouncing back to slayer-form would take some serious dedication brought a frown to her face.

Noticing the California girl's somber face, the nurse reacted. "Is something wrong Ms. Summers?"

Buffy shook her head and forced a smile on her lips. "It's nothing," she said. "I was just thinking about something."

"It's pretty early in the morning to be having such serious thoughts, don't you think?" The nurse in salmon scrubs walked to the window and pulled open the shades. Buffy's eyes were immediately assaulted with sunshine.

"Gah," Buffy complained, waiving her arms as if trying to kill a swarm of gnats. "Is Cleveland always so sunny?"

The nurse chuckled. "Says the California girl." She readjusted the blinds so the outside light wasn't so penetrating.

"How do you know I'm from California?"

The hospital staffer shrugged. "People talk. You're kind of a legend around here, you know. The girl in the coma for three years whose friends visit her every day."

Buffy smiled weakly. "Just as long as they didn't call me The Zombie."

The hospital staffer gave her an odd look. "Zombie? No – a little more flattering. You're known as Sleeping Beauty around here."

Buffy felt appeased. "Well, I guess that's an improvement."

"I've got to keep going on my rounds, but is there anything I can get you? Your breakfast should be delivered in about an hour."

"Can I – I mean," Buffy felt a pout falling on her lips, "do I have to stay in bed?"

"I suppose not," the nurse said with an affable smile. "Just don't try to do too much or wander too far, okay?"

Buffy held up a hand as if taking an oath. "Scouts honor."

When the hospital staffer left, Buffy was alone in her room. She couldn't help but think about _her _orderly and wondered what had become of her back in Los Angeles. The slayer closed her eyes, remembering. She'd been staring into those dark chocolate eyes when their vehicle had been hit. Her body still ached from the impact, a ghost wound like amputees who still have the sensation of their missing limbs.

Not wanting to stay in bed any longer, Buffy pulled the hospital covers back and gingerly stepped out of bed. Her legs felt funny – spindly – like a baby bird getting used to its new body. She took a tentative step. Her feet felt enormous. But with each new footstep, she gained confidence and strength.

Walking out of her room and into the hallway, Buffy dragged the fingertips of one hand along a wall for a semblance of balance. She was annoyed that her body felt so physically foreign, but at least she hadn't had to order her big toe to move a la _Kill Bill. _

Just as no one had minded her wandering the hallways of the Los Angeles-based asylum, no one in the Cleveland hospital looked twice at the blonde slayer in her hospital gown. She didn't know where to go, but she couldn't stay in that bed anymore.

"So then I told him if he wanted a free ride, he should work for the carnival."

Buffy's ears filled with the sound of feminine laughter. The slayer looked in the direction of the girlish giggles and spotted a handful of nurses and orderlies crowded around a nurse's station.

"You're so bad," a girl with a high-pitched voice complained. "How do men let you treat them like that and still come back for more?"

"C'mon. With a figure and a smile like that, she could sell ice to an Eskimo," another woman stated matter-of-factly.

A deep, familiar chuckle resonated above the high-register chatter. The memory of that laughter caused Buffy to pause in the hallway. A small chill racked her figure, either from being out of bed for so long, or from something else altogether.

The group of hospital employees seemed to part and dark brown eyes locked with hazel-green.

Buffy's breath caught in her throat when she recognized the girl in the light blue scrubs.

Concern filled the brunette's eyes when she saw Buffy, in her gown, standing idle in the hallway. "What are you doing out of bed?" Her face was lined with worry.

Buffy opened her mouth in disbelief. "The-the nurse in my room said I could," she offered.

The brunette frowned. "Yeah, well Marcie ain't the sharpest tool in the shed," she complained sourly.

The woman strode away from her gathered group of friends and reached Buffy's side. Putting a solid arm around Buffy's waifish waist as support, the taller girl began to lead the small slayer back in the direction of her room.

Buffy placed a hand on the side of the beautiful woman's face, taking advantage of their closeness. "I couldn't find you," she said softly. She stroked her fingers down her cheekbones. "Where did you go?"

The girl looked surprised by the touch, but didn't discourage it. "I figured with you awake now, the other slayers wouldn't have to take their normal shifts and babysit you. Since I was volunteering today at the hospital, I said I'd watch over ya."

The insertion of the word 'slayer' into her explanation gave Buffy a jolt. This wasn't Her Orderly in the powder blue scrubs. She dropped her hand from the younger girl's cheek as if she'd been burned.

"Faith?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"Nothing." Buffy dropped her head to the floor. "Nothing."

The Boston girl helped her sister-Slayer back to her room and encouraged her to crawl back into bed. In an uncharacteristic gesture, or at least uncharacteristic for the Faith she remembered, the dark-haired woman pulled up a blanket at the foot of the bed to cover up most of Buffy's body.

Faith took great pains to make sure the elder slayer was comfortable in her bed. "This okay? You need more pillows? You need anything at all?" she asked.

"When do I get to leave here?" Buffy abruptly asked.

"You're still not 100%, B," Faith grimaced, knowing how this weakness was irking the other slayer. "You gotta take things slow."

"I'm going crazy in here," Buffy complained.

The C-word obviously touched a nerve with the Boston slayer. "I'll see what I can do to hurry things along, okay?" she appeased the blonde. "I used to date one of the residents, so he owes me."

Buffy raised an amused eyebrow. "_You_ dated someone?"

"We fucked in the custodial closets," the raven-haired girl revealed with a shrug.

"Well, it's nice to know that some things stay the same," Buffy quipped.

The dark-haired girl looked suddenly uncomfortable. "Yeah, ah," she started to inch toward the door. "I'll go talk to him about springin' you free a few days early. Okay?"

Faith exited the room, leaving a bewildered slayer behind.

The Boston-born slayer raked her fingers through her loose hair. Life in Cleveland, for all its Hellmouth-y high jinx, had been stable. Life had been good for the first time since she'd been Called. She was the Number One slayer, a respected and admired instructor at the Slayer Academy, and she could even brag that she'd become close friends with the Original Scooby-gang. But as much as she didn't wish any harm on the Chosen One, with Buffy now awake, she was sure everything was about to change.

Lost to her thoughts, Faith nearly ran into Willow in the hospital hallway.

"Hey, Red," Faith greeted, stopping her rapid escape from Buffy's vicinity. "What're you doing here?"

"Oh you know…cute blonde…about so high?" She held up her hand about eye-level.

Faith smirked. "Don't let Tara know you think Buffy's cute."

The redhead blushed. "Um, anyway. Where are you off to in such a rush?"

"B's gettin' itchy in that bed."

"Oh, no." The Wicca looked concerned. "Not bed bugs?"

Faith laughed. "No…no…she's just ready to go home." The Boston girl blinked a few times and rolled the last word around on her tongue. "Home. Hey Red, where _is _Buffy's home? I mean, besides that crater back in SunnyHell?"

At the question, Willow's face fell. "Um. I-I guess I hadn't thought about that." The redhead began to rapidly think out loud. "When Dawnie wasn't in college yet she just stayed with us. We never really set up a house for her or Buffy since Buffy was here and Dawn would be living on campus soon. I guess Buffy could stay with Tara and me. But ah, we've got an anniversary coming up, and we had plans to, uhm…."

Faith held up her hands. "Say no more," she cut off the rambling witch. "Please. I beg you. _Don't _say another detail."

Willow looked hurt. "Hey."

The Boston girl laughed and playfully clipped the redhead on the shoulder. "I'm just kidding, Red. I guess could house the Great Blonde One for a few days." She grimaced thinking about Buffy in her one-bedroom bachelorette pad. "It'll be a little cramped, but as long as it's not a permanent move, we shouldn't kill each other."

"Great. Thanks a lot, Faith," the talented Wicca smiled. "I know she could always bunk at the slayer dorms, but with her just having woken up, I really don't want to leave her on her own so soon."

"Plus all the girls would totally inflate her ego even more with all that Hero Worship," Faith grinned.

Willow smiled knowingly. "And the last thing we need is a big-headed Buffy."

_Buffy's tiptoes dragged in the dirt as her feet swung back and forth on the swing-set. _

"_You shouldn't do that," warned the voice of a young girl in the swing next to hers. "You'll get your shoes dirty."_

"_It's okay," Buffy replied. "These are last season."_

"_Grandma doesn't like it when I get dirty," the girl with two pigtails admonished._

"_Tell your grandma it's just a little dirt," Buffy said, pumping her legs to swing higher. "God made dirt and dirt don't hurt."_

_The little girl laughed. "My Grandpa says that."_

"_My dad used to say that whenever my mom got mad at me for making mud balls with my sister, Dawn," Buffy noted._

"_My name is Dawn, too."_

_Buffy stopped swinging to look at the little girl beside her. Her brown hair was stick-straight, parted down the middle, and pulled into two taunt pigtails, each curled at the ends. She wore a light pink dress so pale it almost looked white. On her tiny feet were copies of Dorothy's ruby red slippers from _The Wizard of Oz_ movie. She looked at the Chosen One with large, expressive eyes._

"_Are you ever coming back, Mommy?" the pre-school aged girl asked._

Buffy sat up in bed abruptly, sucking in deep breaths. She tried to get her bearings, not immediately recognizing the bedroom in which she currently found herself. A slight rustling noise from a corner of the room alerted her.

"Who's there?" she demanded.

An uncomfortable cough filled the room. "Sorry," Faith apologized, looking a mixture of embarrassed and regretful. "I…I thought you were awake. I heard some noises, and I just assumed."

The realization of her location came back to her. Faith had arranged for Buffy to be released early in her custody. With no other place to go, the Boston girl had offered up her apartment as a temporary solution to Buffy's current homeless situation. Despite the Californian's protests, Faith had given her the single bedroom while she had slept on the couch the previous night.

The Boston girl was still dressed in her pajamas, a zip-up hoodie over a tank top paired with light blue scrubs. Seeing Faith dressed in something other than leather and denim was almost as shocking as the dream she'd just woken up from.

"It's okay." Buffy wiped at her forehead. It felt sweaty. "Don't worry about it."

The brunette slayer cleared her throat again. "Anyway, uh. Morning."

Faith set down a small tray with a bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice. It wasn't as fancy as her last breakfast in bed extravaganza, but at least it was food. The thought of her most recent breakfast-in-bed made Buffy sigh. She smiled wistfully down at the tray.

"Why do you keep doing that?" Faith asked.

Buffy looked up, away from the food. "Doing what?"

"You smile, but it doesn't get to your eyes." Faith's lips twisted. "It's like, you're happy, but you're sad about something."

Buffy's head dropped again, and she fought back the tears. How could she ever explain what life had been like in Los Angeles to this woman? But more importantly, how could she ever tell her she'd fallen for someone who looked exactly like her?

"Sorry to pry," the brunette slayer grunted. "I'll let you eat your breakfast in piece."

Buffy's head snapped up again. "No, you can stay," she rushed out. She wiped at her eyes with the backs of her hands. "I mean…you don't have to go."

Faith said nothing. She looked at the open doorway for a moment, before deciding to sit down in a chair in one corner of the room. The two women sat in silence, Faith awkwardly waiting, while the elder slayer finished her breakfast. When Buffy finished, she moved the tray off her lap and pushed it towards the foot of the bed so she wouldn't slop any leftover milk on Faith's duvet cover.

Faith shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her zip-up sweatshirt. "Are we ever gonna talk about the 100-pound elephant in the room?"

Buffy looked around the small bedroom. "Where?"

"Metaphorically."

"Oh," Buffy quipped, her body physically relaxing. "You never can tell with demons these days."

"We had sex, Buffy."

The blonde's hazel-green eyes widened at the words. "No, we did not," she protested, her voice nearly shrill.

Faith nodded. "Right before you fell into your coma, you visited me in prison. Does that ring a bell?"

"We kissed," the California slayer insisted. "That's it."

"And denial is a river in Africa."

Buffy stared hard at the brunette girl. "I'm serious, Faith. You and I," she motioned between their two bodies, "we've never had sex."

"So I just dreamed that entire conjugal visit?" the Boston-born slayer countered with a raised eyebrow.

The blonde shook her head. "No. I was there, too. But we didn't have sex. We…." she paused and tried to remember back to that day. "I showed up –"

"—Looking overdressed in a skirt."

"—_wearing Cordelia's clothes_ because I had no other choice," Buffy countered. "The guard let us into the visitation room, and we kissed."

"You kissed _me_," Faith corrected.

Buffy waved a dismissive hand. "Details, details."

"Yeah, and then we fucked," the younger girl grunted.

Buffy winced at the brunette's abrasive language. "No, we did not," she continued to insist. "We kissed…and then…" She blinked a few times. "And then I woke up back at the asylum."

"I don't get you."

Buffy stared hard at the other slayer. "How much do you know about what was happening to me? Before I went into my coma, I mean."

The Boston girl shrugged. "Just bits of what Red told me at the time. You would black out or something and when you'd regain consciousness you told everyone you'd been in a different dimension or something."

"And in that 'dimension,' I was a patient at an insane asylum. Did you tell you _that _part?" Buffy pressed.

Faith looked away. "Yeah, I just…uh…didn't wanna bring it up if you didn't want to talk about it."

"This world, Faith, it was _so real._"Buffy felt herself getting animated despite still sitting in bed. "And I was just a patient at an asylum who'd dreamed up this whole wacky world of Slayers and Vampires. For a while I was straddling the line between the two realities, but when I'd come back to Sunnydale, there were chunks missing – things I couldn't remember that I'd done because my consciousness was at that hospital in Los Angeles."

Faith looked confused as she tried to fix the disparate pieces together. "Wait a minute. So you're telling me you don't _remember _us having sex?"

"That's only what I've been saying the past 10 minutes," Buffy huffed. "You might have had sex with my body, but I wasn't in the room."

The blonde narrowed her eyes, getting more and more angry at the thought. "Kind of like when you stole my body when you first got out of your coma. _Who knows_ what kind of perverse things you did to me."

In her youth, Faith would have taken violent offense to the elder slayer's accusations. But time and experience had matured her. She wasn't going to fall back into her old routines with Buffy. She'd grown too much in the three short years since she'd last interacted with the girl.

"Nuh uh," Faith countered, clucking her tongue on the roof of her mouth. "Not to _you_, B. Just your body. Remember?"

The Chosen One released a frustrated noise. "This isn't going to work out." She crossed her arms across her chest. "I can't stay here with you."

Faith smirked and stood up. "Tough toenails, kiddo. You have no choice." The Boston girl made a move toward the open door.

"Where are you going?" Buffy demanded.

"I gotta get to the Academy," Faith replied. Remembering herself, she walked toward her closet and began to rummage through her clothes for an outfit to change into. "I teach combat today. Time to train up some newbies so I can retire from this life."

"You're not leaving me behind," the blonde shrilly complained.

"Like hell I'm not."

"I'm coming with you, Faith," Buffy insisted stubbornly. "If you leave me here by myself, I might burn down your apartment. Or at least I'll leave all the lights on and run up your electricity bill."

"Fine," Faith grunted. She shook her head. Maybe volunteering to house the elder slayer was going to be the worst idea ever. "Just don't get in the way."

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

Buffy struggled to keep her teeth from chattering as another brisk wind blew into her face. She didn't have a winter coat and so had borrowed a puffy down jacket from Faith. It was at least two sizes too big for her, but at least it was warm.

"Remind me again why we're walking when you live in the North Pole?" Buffy complained, sucking in sharp breaths. The frigid air hurt her lungs and seemed to steal her breath with every gust.

"Cause I've only got a motorcycle and there's no way I'm taking you on it," Faith responded, not sounding cold at all. "Your arms are so weak, you'd probably fall off the back the first time I revved the engine."

"I would not," Buffy pouted, still chattering.

She struggled to keep up with the long strides of her sister-Slayer. Not only did Faith have longer legs, but as the Californian had recently been released from the hospital, she was still weaker than what she was accustomed to.

"Toughen up, Twinkie," Faith retorted. She blew into her hands, warming up her skin as she'd given the elder slayer her only pair of gloves. "We're only a few more blocks from the school."

"So you work at the hospital _and _you teach at the slayer school?" Buffy asked.

"Not exactly." Faith paused at a crosswalk and looked both ways before continuing towards the slayer school. "I'm just a volunteer at the hospital. I mean, after all the death and dying, I'm pretty good at bandaging up basic injuries, but I'm by no means a nurse." She breathed in through her nostrils, stopping her nose from dripping unattractively. "I just pitch in where I can…offer a laugh…play board games with long-term patients…stuff like that."

The admission that Faith played board games with long-term-care patients shocked the blonde slayer. The brunette's volunteer job description sounded nearly identical to her orderly's former occupation.

Buffy turned her head to look at the taller slayer. "Why do you do it?"

The Boston-born slayer shrugged. "I was hanging around the hospital enough during my shifts watchin' over you," she reminded the other girl. "Got friendly with some of the staff, so on some of my days off when I've got nothing else to do, I hang out there."

"What do you teach at the Slay school?" Buffy pressed. She didn't know why she was so interested in this new Faith, but she chalked it up to wanting to fill in as many coma-induced gaps as possible. "Do you have lectures and stuff like a real professor?"

"I mostly stick to combat," Faith breezed. "I only instruct the more advanced students though. We've got girls as young as seven or eight at the academy, but they don't get that kind of training. They're mostly getting general education and receive non-combative training like gymnastics and yoga and stuff."

"You sound like a brochure." Buffy shuffled behind the taller slayer. Faith's figure seemed to cut into the wind and offered a brief reprise from the bitter chill.

"Well, word's gotta get out there somehow."

Faith stopped walking and Buffy bumped into her backside, not expecting the other slayer to stop so abruptly. "Why are we stopping?" Buffy asked, shivering behind Faith.

The Boston girl laughed. "Because we're here. Check it out, B. Welcome to the Cleveland Academy for Gifted Girls."

Faith stepped to the side affording Buffy an unobstructed view of the campus grounds. A tall wrought iron fence surrounded about an acre of land. Situated in the center was a sprawling brick building that almost resembled a castle.

Buffy whistled lowly in appreciation. "How do we pay for all of this? Did the Council have a bank account they kept secret because they knew I like new shoes?"

Faith chuckled. "It's a legit school." She walked up to the front gate and punched a sequence of numbers into a security panel. "The girls pay tuition and room and board to stay here."

Buffy's eyebrows furrowed. "Doesn't that seem…wrong? Like these girls' families have to pay just because they were unfortunate enough to be Called?"

The Californian's word choice of "unfortunate" didn't escape the notice of the other slayer, but she chose to ignore it for the moment. "Beats the alternative of robbin' banks and pullin' off jewel heists to pay for everything, don't you think?" Faith offered.

"I guess so," Buffy mumbled.

She somehow got the feeling that Faith's response was aimed at her, although she didn't know why.

Faith closed the blue locker with a noisy slam. "Try to stay out of trouble, okay?" she implored of the blonde slayer. "I've gotta tumble with the older girls for an hour or so, but then we can go do something else. I'll give ya the grand tour of the school if you want."

"And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?" Buffy complained. "Just watch?"

"Well, if you get bored watching a pro throw down," Faith quipped tossing a hand-towel around her neck, "why don't you try workin' up a sweat yourself? Just don't hurt yourself on the free-weights, cutie." The Boston girl threw the elder slayer a carefree wink and walked out of the locker room.

Buffy leaned over and tied up a pair of tennis shoes that felt about three sizes too large. She seriously needed to go on a shopping spree. Why hadn't anyone thought to rescue her wardrobe when Sunnydale had imploded?

Leaving the locker room, Buffy made her way towards a stack of free weights. She glanced in the direction of Faith's class. A group of about five or six women sat Indian-style around Faith and another girl who circled each other and began to lightly spar.

The blonde girl felt a slight twinge of jealousy – not because it was Faith who was teaching a slayer class, but that she wasn't the girl sparring with the brunette. She didn't realize how much she missed something she'd once taken for granted.

But before she would be back to fighting form, she knew she'd have to remind her muscles how to work. Buffy eyeballed the solitary heavy bag in one corner of the gymnasium. She grabbed a pair of fingerless sparring gloves off a rack and slipped them on. The blonde swaggered up to the punching bag.

"You don't look so tough," she mumbled to the inanimate object. Buffy thumbed her nose at the heavy bag and threw her first punch.

Her lightly closed fist landed squarely in the center of the heavy bag. She could feel the impact reverberate from her fingers, through her arm bones, and up to her shoulder. She jabbed again with her left hand, this time a little harder and both the bag and her body began to respond.

A small smile of confidence played on the blonde slayer's mouth. "Oh, you're in such trouble," she taunted the punching bag.

Buffy fell into a natural rhythm, mixing in a combination of shadow boxing with her actual punches. The world around her seemed to melt away and all that existed was the feeling of blood pumping through her arms and the pressure on her toes as she bounced around, connecting with the slightly swaying Everlast bag.

"That's quite a right hook," someone admired.

Buffy stopped her assault on the off-white bag and noticed a slender woman in her early twenties standing close.

"I'm sorry," Buffy panted, trying to catch her breath. "Do I know you?" She wiped a few blonde strands out of her face and grabbed onto the weighted punching bag to stop its swinging.

"You don't know me. But I-I certainly know who you are. God, that sounded stalkerish, didn't it?"

Buffy laughed. "Kind of."

The Asian woman stuck out her hand. "I'm Satsu, Ms. Summers," the slayer introduced with a wide grin. "I'm a big fan."

Buffy rewarded the younger girl with a smile of her own. "It's nice to meet you, Satsu. Are you here for combat class with Faith?"

"Oh, I have a free period right now. I thought I'd come down and do some cardio. I have Ms. Lehane's class on Tuesdays and Thursdays."

Buffy glanced in the direction of her sister-Slayer. The girls all gazed admiringly at the Boston slayer who was showing one of her pupils how to get out of a complicated hold.

"Faith's really good with you girls, huh?" Buffy mused, her eyes tracking the easy, fluid movements of the brunette.

"It's totally an honor to have one of the Chosen Ones teaching us," Satsu observed. "She could be doing anything, but she chooses to train the more advanced slayers. Are you going to be teaching soon, too?"

Something about the way this novice slayer said "Chosen Ones" creeped Buffy out, but the girl seemed nice enough. She was just a little…intense, Buffy decided.

"Umm, I haven't decided about that yet. I'm…still trying to get adjusted to everything."

"Oh, yes. Of course."

Buffy grabbed a water bottle from a small table near the free weights. "So what exactly do they 'teach' you about me in that Slayer history class?" she asked, taking a quick swig of the chilled liquid.

Satsu took a deep breath. "Well, where to start? You were called when you were 16 in Los Angeles and you like totally took out a whole gymnasium full of vampires, but your school unfairly kicked you out. Which was actually kind of a good thing, because then you and your mom moved to Sunnydale, home of the West Coast Hellmouth. It's there that you joined up with Rupert Giles, your second Watcher, Xander Harris, and Willow Rosenberg."

Buffy laughed and sat down on one of the bleachers. "Wow. It's like I'm watching a television show of my life or something."

"Oh, and of course there's Angel," the eager slayer continued. "I know it should probably weird us out, a Slayer dating a Vampire, but I know a lot of the girls think it's all terribly romantic."

Buffy frowned. "Angel."

The last time she'd heard about him, he was a recent father and Darla was the baby's child. The golden-haired slayer wondered what had happened to Angel since she'd last seen Cordelia in LA. This academy, and Faith's freedom and redemption, were all proof that a lot could happen in three years time. Buffy made a mental promise to herself to catch up with everything that had happened in Los Angeles as soon as her new life in Cleveland was more settled.

Pulling herself out of her silent musings, Buffy realized that Satsu was still gushing on about everything she knew about Buffy's life history. She snapped her eyes back to the Asian girl, feigning interest.

"And then you sacrificed yourself to save the World and save your sister, jumping off that platform. And you'd been in a coma ever since."

"Wait – what did you just say?" Buffy sputtered, not sure she heard the other girl right. She had been spacing out, after all.

"About your coma?" Satsu questioned.

"No, before that."

"You mean how you sacrificed yourself to save the world when Glory tried to return to her Hell dimension, and that's why you were in the coma?" the younger slayer tried again.

Buffy's stomach fell at the words. "That's not right," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I died."

Satsu nodded. "Right…when you first moved to Sunnydale, the Master…"

"No," Buffy cut off the other slayer abruptly. "I _died_ when I jumped off that platform. I was buried in the ground for months. I-I even went to Heaven, and they tore me out when they brought me back to life."

The Asian slayer's cheeks turned pink. "I-I'm sorry, Ms. Summers. That's just what they teach us."

"Who wrote that stuff about me?" Buffy felt panicked; she knew she was probably freaking out this young slayer, but she needed to know. Either she was in the wrong dimension again or someone was taking liberties with the Story of Her Life.

"I'm guessing it was Ms. Rosenberg," Satsu revealed. Her face looked troubled knowing she had upset the Original Slayer. "She and Ms. Maclay designed most of the curriculum from what I understand."

"Where is Willow right now?" Buffy didn't know whether to be angry or scared, but if she didn't get away from the punching bag, it was going to get ripped off its chains, weak muscles or no.

"Probably teaching at Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts?" Buffy scratched at her head.

"You know….Harry Potter?" Satsu laughed. "That's what some of us slayers call the coven academy. It's not really a separate school; we share classrooms with them and stuff, but we have different dormitories for the witches and slayers."

"Who's Harry Potter?"

"Wow. You _have _been gone a long time," Satsu remarked.

Buffy shook her head. "Whatever. Just bring me there. _Ms. Rosenberg_ and I need to have a long talk."

The blonde slayer briskly knocked on the classroom door. Through the beveled glass window she could see her long-time friend turn away from the blackboard in the direction of the closed door.

"Keep trying the elevation spell on your own," Willow instructed her class of novice Wiccas. "But _no _elevating each other. Margaret, that means you."

Willow briskly stepped towards the classroom exit. She opened the door and smiled when she saw her friend in the hallway. "Hey, Buffy," she greeted. "I didn't expect to see you at the school so soon in your recovery."

"We have to talk." Buffy's features were clouded in anger.

The smile fell from Willow's face, and she closed the door more fully behind her. "Sure, Buff." Her friend's dark demeanor didn't go unnoticed. "What's up?"

"Why are you telling people…no, _teaching _people," Buffy corrected herself, "that I was in the coma because of Glory?"

Willow's naturally pale features blanched even more. She swallowed hard. "Who told you?" she managed to squeak out.

"That doesn't matter," Buffy snapped. "How could you do that to me? Why lie about everything?"

"History is written by the Victors?" the Wicca offered lamely.

"And so since I was in a coma, you just decided to make up your own ending to my story to meet your needs?" Buffy felt her barely controlled anger spilling over the edges.

The witch glanced anxiously towards her classroom where her students waited for her return.

"The things is," Willow tried to explain, "we never…_I_ never expected you to wake up."

The witch's revelation stung the slayer as if she'd slapped her across the face. "But _why_, Willow. Why did you do it?" Buffy asked. Her voice sounded hoarse.

Willow's head dropped. "I felt guilty for tearing you out of Heaven when you died the second time. I couldn't bear it anymore. That was hard enough, let alone you going crazy and thinking all of this wasn't real. Once I made up the lie for the Slayer history curriculum, it just…it was easier to keep on thinking I hadn't messed you up so badly."

A hallway bell rang shrilly, indicating the end of classes for the day. The sound of chairs scuffing against linoleum floors and books and papers being collected into book bags replaced the bell, followed by the din cacophony of feminine voices.

Students spilled into the hallway from all directions, emptying out of the various classrooms. Willow and Buffy paused their current conversation so the witch could give final instructions to the students in her classroom.

After dismissing her class, Willow walked back into the hallway, chewing on her bottom lip. "Do you want to grab dinner in the cafeteria, and we can talk about this more?"

"Maybe some other time." Buffy sighed and her shoulders seemed to crumble under her thin cardigan top. "I-I need some time to process this all, Will."

The redheaded Wicca nodded her understanding. She touched her fingertips against Buffy's thin forearm. She was surprised and saddened at how vulnerable Buffy's energy felt.

"I'm really sorry about this, Buffy," her best friend sincerely apologized. "But…but you're back now. And everything will be back to normal soon, I promise."

The academy's hallways soon emptied with students rushing off to evening commitments and the dinner hour. Buffy found herself alone in a long corridor. She didn't know how to get back to the gymnasium to find Faith, but she assumed if she walked around long enough she'd find her way or at least someone to point her in the right direction.

Buffy paused her wanderings when she heard a solitary voice coming from one of the classrooms. She walked past a classroom filled with rows of desks and stopped when she saw a familiar face in the room.

The Chosen One knocked on the door jam. Her knuckles sounded hollow against the wood.

"Satsu?"

The Asian slayer lifted her eyes from her notebook. Her face lit up when she saw who it was.

"Yes, Ms. Summers?" the eager student asked.

"What are you doing in here?" Buffy questioned. She entered the empty room and sat on the edge of the instructor's table at the front of the classroom.

Satsu dropped her glance in embarrassment. "Oh, I sometimes stay after class to look over my notes from the day. The library is too noisy for me to really concentrate, and there's too many distractions back at the dorms."

Buffy nodded. "You take your studies pretty seriously, huh?"

Satsu's features became solemn. "Of course. Being chosen as a slayer is a great honor and responsibility. Plus, I want to be in charge of my own Slayer cell one day, and that won't happen if I fall behind in class."

"Ambitious," Buffy stated.

The other slayer shrugged. "It comes so easily to others, like my friend Kennedy, for instance. She hardly has to crack a book to do well. I just have to work a little harder to keep up."

Buffy was quiet for a moment as she thought on her plan. Finally, she spoke. "How did you do in Demonology class?"

The Asian girl beamed proudly and sat a little straighter in her seat. "I was one of the top students. Why?"

"Because there's a demon I want you to help me find."

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

"It's not like it was a date, Satsu. Pull yourself together." Kennedy lay on her back and tossed a baseball toward the ceiling.

"How can you act so blasé?" her roommate shot. "I had _dinner_ with Buffy Summers."

"Yeah, because she wants your help finding a demon," Kennedy noted.

Satsu looked up from her demonology textbook and frowned. "What's your point?"

Kennedy sat up in bed. "You're seriously thinking about doing it?" she asked incredulously.

Satsu shrugged and returned her eyes to the text. "And why shouldn't I?"

"Did she tell you _why _it was so important to find this thing?" the brunette slayer pressed.

The other slayer's bottom lip stuck out slightly. "No, but does that really matter?" she stated sourly. Why couldn't her best friend just be _happy _for her?

Kennedy lay back down on the top bunk's mattress. "I just think it's a bad idea, Sats," she answered honestly. "You don't even know this lady."

Satsu stared hard at her roommate. "Why do you have to be so negative all the time?"

"I'm not. I'm just looking out for you," the other slayer insisted. "I don't like seeing my best friend getting used like that."

"Oh, and if Willow Rosenberg asked for your help with something, you'd turn her down?" Satsu snorted.

"Firstly, she'd never ask me for help," Kennedy replied indignantly. "A powerful Wicca like her doesn't need help from a junior slayer. Secondly, that's totally different. We can trust her."

"You're asking me _not _to trust Buffy Anne Summers, only the greatest Slayer ever to be Called?"

Kennedy rolled her eyes. "God, you're hopeless." The young slayer jumped down from the top bunk. She peered over her friend's shoulder to see which demon she was research. "So what's your great plan?" she asked. "You help Buffy Summers find this demon and you'll live happily-ever-after?"

The Asian slayer mumbled unintelligently.

"She's not even _gay_, Sats," Kennedy pointed out.

Satsu looked cross and dropped her eyes back down to the printed text. "Stranger things have happened."

Faith shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her leather jacket. She kicked at an ice chunk, sending it splintering across the blacktop. "It's too soon," she grumbled under her breath.

"Well, I wasn't about to stay at your apartment by myself," Buffy stubbornly protested.

"Don't see why not," Faith countered. "The fridge's stocked, and you could have watched that Meg Ryan movie without me buggin' you."

"Meg will be on later," Buffy noted. "I think there's some television cable rule that at least one of her movies has to be on at all times. Besides," she said, glaring at the brunette slayer, "I'm not broken."

"But you're not totally right, either," the Bostonian gruffly stated.

"Let's just finish patrol," Buffy huffed. She patted uselessly at her arms. "It's cold."

"It's winter in the Midwest," Faith grunted. "Get used to it."

The blonde stopped walking. "Why are you in such a pissy mood?" Buffy demanded.

Faith stopped and threw her hands up in the air. "Because you're on patrol, B, and you're not ready yet. Would it kill you to do as I say for once?"

"My skin is crawling," the Californian complained. "I had to get out and beat something up."

"It's dangerous," Faith asserted, shaking her head. "You don't know the cemeteries yet – this isn't Sunnydale. Plus you're still weak –,"

"—I can still take you," Buffy interrupted.

Faith narrowed her dark eyes. "I'd hand you your ass right now if I wasn't so afraid I'd break you."

Buffy remained silent. For all her bravado, she knew she still wasn't at 100 percent yet. Being inactive for over three years had played a toll on her muscles and slayer reflexes.

Faith grunted. "Fine. Whatever. Just stay safe," she ordered. "Stay out of the way. And if we come across anything tall, dark, and fangy, promise me you won't try to hump his brains, okay?"

Buffy glared at the younger slayer. "You're loving this aren't you? With me out of the way, you got everything you ever wanted. You're Number One Slayer, the new girls all worship you, and you even managed to steal my friends."

"I'm gonna let that slide, B," Faith stated slowly, checking her anger, " 'cause who knows what kinda brain damage you suffered in your coma."

"You're just upset because it wasn't _you _who put me in that coma," the blonde snapped off.

Even in the limited lighting, Buffy could see the other girl clenching her jaw. She knew her words stung, but if she couldn't hurt someone with her fists, her words would have to do.

"Careful," Faith quietly growled. "I said I wouldn't throw down cause you're all special ed, but you're seriously testing my patience."

Without a word of warning, Buffy cocked her right fist and punched the other slayer square in the face. Faith's head knocked to the side from the unexpected impact.

"Hit me back," the blonde taunted. "I know you want to."

The Boston girl's head snapped back to its original position, and she brought a hand up to her mouth. She could feel the thick wetness of her own blood on her fingertips.

"It's not gonna happen, B," she said quietly. She knew exactly what the elder girl was trying to do – to goad her into an all-out-brawl. She was an expert at this kind of thing.

Buffy felt off balance. She felt angry and out-of-sorts, but it wasn't enough to send her back to Los Angeles and her orderly. For the moment it appeared she was stuck in Cleveland, Ohio.

The Chosen One took another, wild swing with her clenched right hand, but this time Faith caught Buffy's wrist mid-air before the punch could land.

Buffy made a noise of alarm to have her assault be so easily deflected. "God, you make me so angry."

She grabbed a handful of Faith's hair with alarming quickness, and crushed her mouth against the brunette's lips. Faith hissed in surprise and pain. Buffy could taste the iron tang of blood in her mouth, and she ripped her face away from the Boston girl.

Faith ran her tongue over her split bottom lip. "You sure have a funny way of showing it," she breathed.

With Faith's defenses dropped, the unstable slayer grabbed onto the lapel of the brunette's leather jacket. If she had had her slayer strength fully back, she could have easily overwhelmed the younger woman. Instead, she pressed her mouth against the Boston woman's again, this time with less venom in her actions.

Buffy could feel the taller slayer's body become less rigid as she allowed the embrace to happen. The blonde pulled desperately at Faith's jacket as if she couldn't get close enough to the other slayer's body. Faith's mouth moved delicately over Buffy's candy mouth and the Californian pressed into her partner, showing all indication that she was interested in more than just kissing.

Faith's brain worked overtime even as Buffy's tongue slipped between her lips. As much as the raven-haired girl wanted to continue making out with the slayer over whom she'd pined for too many years, she knew Buffy wasn't in a good place. She was confused and angry. The Boston girl knew full well what that was like, and how sex wasn't the answer. It would only complicate things between them even more.

Faith reluctantly pulled away. She ran the back of her hand across her mouth.

"What?" Buffy asked. Her features scrunched together in confusion and anger. "Why are we…why are you stopping?"

"Because we're on Candid Camera."

Buffy's hazel-green eyes went wide. "What?"

Faith turned Buffy's body slightly and pointed up to a small, black box that sat atop the Marshall family mausoleum. "We've got this cemetery wired. That's a tiny video camera up there."

"Oh my God," the blonde gasped.

Faith laughed, but dismissed Buffy's horror. "We got the idea from the Trio a few years ago. They were stalkin' the Scoobies, putting mini cameras in lawn ornaments and stuff."

"The Trio? Is that something like the Order of Taraka?"

"Order of Taraka?" Faith repeated.

"Back when Spike was still trying to be evil," Buffy explained, "he hired three assassins to take me out."

"Don't I wish. That actually would have been fun," Faith laughed. "Naw, these guys were just three nerds with too much time on their hands. They stole super dorky things to make, like, a freeze-ray gun or something, and drove around in a Star Wars-themed van."

"Wait. I remember that," Buffy noted, trying to jog her memory. "It was right before," she paused. _I went crazy _"_…_right before my coma." She shook her head. "So why the video cameras?"

"Think of it like football players who watch tape of themselves playing or watching their opponents," Faith explained as she started to walk deeper into the cemetery again. She still felt rattled from Buffy's unexpected kiss, but she knew talking shop would help her regain her feet. "We use 'em to train up the girls at the Academy, and for the seasoned vets who are on active duty, they get to learn about their fighting styles and learn from their mistakes. Don't worry though, there's no sound, just video."

"So what are the slayers going to learn from tonight's tape?" Buffy groaned.

Faith flashed the golden-haired girl a dimpled smile. "That you think I'm fucking irresistible."

Buffy walked away from the dark slayer and sighed heavily. "This isn't how I pictured my life turning out." She sat down on top of a tombstone, exhausted. "Why do you have to be so…okay…and I'm such a mess?"

"You've only been awake a few days, Buffy," Faith tried to reassure the blonde slayer. "Give it some time, and I'm bound to screw up," she said, laughing uncomfortably. "Then everything will be back to normal."

"Time." Buffy spit out the word as though it left a bad taste in her mouth. "Be patient. That's what everyone keeps saying. But I don't want to wait," she complained bitterly. "I want my life back now!"

Faith shuffled around anxiously. Talking to Buffy and seeing her like this made her uneasy. She and Buffy had never exactly been friends – they'd spent the majority of their acquaintance wanting the other person dead or at least seriously maimed. She wasn't used to Buffy's honesty.

"Do you wanna stay with Willow?"

Buffy looked up, concerned. "Are you kicking me out? I know I shouldn't have kissed you. I'm sorry."

"No, no," Faith quickly blurted out. "I just thought this is the kinda heavy stuff you'd want to tell your best friend."

"Some friend," Buffy grumbled to herself. Her slight body heaved with another heavy sigh. "Is it…is it okay if I stay with you a little longer? I can't be around her right now, if that's okay?"

"Yeah, sure, B. Whatever you need," Faith said briskly. She looked away from Buffy's hazel-green eyes. It hurt too much.

Buffy stood up and absently brushed at her backside. "Are we done here? I can't feel my toes anymore."

Faith glanced around the silent cemetery and breathed out shakily. "Yeah, let's head home," she conceded. "I'm pretty sure we've scared away everything in a mile radius."

Buffy sat down heavily next to the brunette slayer. "What are we watching?" she grunted.

After the uneventful, yet untraditional patrol, the two had returned to Faith's apartment. Buffy had beaten the brunette into the bathroom, monopolizing the shower. For being such an invalid, Faith was impressed by the blonde's prowess, but she had a suspicion that living with Dawn had something to do with it.

"Nothing."

Faith's eyes raked over the elder girl. The Bostonian silently mused how good Buffy looked, freshly scrubbed and clad in a pair of the brunette's scrubs and a heather grey v-neck t-shirt. She couldn't help noticing how good her shampoo and soap smelled on the other girl as well. She hated to admit it, but she could get used to this arrangement.

Buffy grabbed the remote from the Boston girl's hand. "I'll find something," she said with confidence.

The raven-haired woman smirked. "You sure are grabby," she observed.

Buffy's eyes didn't leave the television screen as she flipped through the channels. "Get used to it."

Faith turned slightly on the couch to better look at the smaller slayer. "Get used to you grabbin' on me?" she playfully leered. 'Cause I'm pretty sure I could get used to that."

Buffy's mouth curled into a sly smile. "No, just get used to _me_."

Faith reached out and brushed away a stray hair that had fallen across the elder slayer's forehead. "You got it."

The golden-haired slayer stiffened at the younger woman's touch. When had Faith become so sweet? She realized she didn't really know this girl at all. Gone was the angry, sarcastic, violent teenager. Now, only a mature, thoughtful, and seemingly tender woman sat beside her.

Buffy worried her bottom lip. "Did we…did we really have sex?"

The Bostonian's eyes dropped. "Yeah." She couldn't gloat or crow about it; Buffy hadn't really been there.

The blonde sucked in a deep breath. "Did you tell anyone?"

"Who would believe me?" Faith pointed out. The brunette's mind flooded with unanswered questions that had weighed heavily on her mind for years. "Why did you kiss me?"

"I was angry," Buffy reasoned. "You know I can't stand being this weak."

"No," Faith clarified, "I mean when you visited me in prison."

Now it was Buffy's turn to look away. "It's complicated."

Faith shifted on the couch again. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Not yet," Buffy stated quietly. She looked down at her hands.

The Boston-born slayer swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. "Well, when you're ready, just know that you can talk to me about it." The words tumbled out. "I-I know we were never close, but…I'd like to be. So, when you're ready, I'm here. I'm not goin' anywhere."

Buffy gave the younger girl a forced smile. "Thanks, Faith."

"How about some Meg Ryan?" the brunette suggested in a suddenly bright tone. She picked up the remote off the couch and began to flip through the channels. "I'm sure we can find her somewhere."

Buffy turned her eyes back to the television screen. She blinked hard, feeling the telltale pricking of tears in the corners of her eyes. Faith might not be going anywhere, but she couldn't make that same promise of herself.

Faith took her time wrapping her knuckles and wrists with the flesh-colored gauze. As she prepared for that afternoon's combat lesson, her gaze roamed around the gymnasium, looking for the blonde girl.

The Boston-born slayer hadn't been surprised to learn that the campus was a-buzz with news that the Chosen Two had kissed. She knew the combat tape from the previous night would eventually get leaked to the student body, but she'd been surprised at how quickly the news had spread. And like a game of telephone, the gossip escaladed as the story of the two slayers kissing in the cemetery passed from one new slayer to the next.

For her part, Faith was unconcerned if the young protégés had some fun at her expense, but she worried how the blonde slayer would handle all the gossip. It was bad enough that the girls were intimidated by the newly awaken slayer.

The brunette spotted a flash of blonde hair in the direction of the school gymnasium's rafters. Buffy sat on the third level of bleachers, looking bored. Faith took a step to approach the elder slayer, but paused when she saw one of the junior girls walk up to Buffy and have a seat next to her. It was Satsu.

Faith grimaced. Although she didn't make it her business to know the personal life of all the slayers, she knew Satsu's story enough. The girl had been sent to the slayer academy a few months previously and was a bit of a loner. She was often in the company of her roommate, Kennedy, but even her friend couldn't help bring the Asian slayer fully out of her shell. But one thing Faith knew all too well was Satsu's obsession with Buffy Summers. In the absence of friends and comradery with the other slayers, the dark-haired youth had thrown herself into her studies.

She watched the two seated slayers begin to talk and she strained her slayer-hearing to eavesdrop, but the distance and chaos of the gymnasium was too great for her to listen in.

"Ms. Lehane?"

Faith snapped her eyes away from the blonde and her biggest fan. "Yeah?" she barked in an annoyed tone.

The Boston girl's wild glance rested on the embarrassed face of one of the more experienced slayers, Vi. The redhead averted her gaze. "Sorry," Vi apologized sheepishly. "I was just wondering when we were going to start."

Faith cleared her throat and checked her emotions. She shouldn't care who Buffy was talking to. That was her own business. "Yeah, so today we're gonna focus on legs," she stated in a clear, authoritative voice. The girls around her immediately fell silent as the day's lesson was about to begin.

Satsu spied the Chosen One sitting by herself on the gymnasium bleachers. Her palms felt sweaty, and she clutched her demonology textbook tighter to her chest. Earlier that morning, Rhoda, one of the other junior slayers, had shown her the combat feed from the previous night's patrols. Rhoda had shown the video to the Asian girl to be cruel, knowing Satsu's feelings. Satsu knew the other junior slayers mocked her for her dedication to the Chosen One, particularly when Buffy had been in a coma. Although it had stung to see Buffy Summers kissing Faith Lehane, Satsu felt a flutter of hope that maybe she_ did_ have a chance with the blonde slayer after all.

She couldn't quite pinpoint when she had fallen in love with the golden-haired girl. Maybe it was when she had pulled rounds watching over the comatose slayer at the Cleveland long-term care ward. Or maybe it had been during her Slayer history course when Ms. Rosenberg had lectured on the martyrdom of the most impressive slayer the world had ever seen.

The entire situation with Buffy reminded her of an old _film noir _movie she'd seen one cold, rainy afternoon. A detective had been put in charge of solving the murder of an attractive and ambitious woman named Laura. The detective fell in love with the dead woman just from looking at a painted portrait of her and interviewing those closest to the victim. When it was discovered that she wasn't dead at all, that it had been her assistant who had been killed, the detective and Laura solved the case together and lived happily-ever-after.

If life mirrored the movies, now all Satsu had to do was help Buffy summon this demon and the two of them could become closer, just like the detective and Laura had. Satsu was convinced that if Buffy would just give her a chance, the blonde would see how worthy the younger slayer was of her attentions.

Checking her courage, Satsu approached the bored-looking slayer. She cleared her throat and gave Buffy a thousand-watt smile.

"You went on patrol last night with Ms. Lehane," Satsu started.

Buffy's glassy eyes sharpened and focused when she heard the voice. She turned her head to see the Asian slayer standing near. "Everyone's seen the tape already?"

Satsu smiled sheepishly. "Not _everyone_ – just a few of the older girls who review the tapes in the morning to see if there's anything useful."

"And me groping Faith is considered useful how exactly?" Buffy groaned into her hands.

Satsu climbed up the rafters and sat next to Buffy. "Oh, it didn't make it on the combat lesson tape," the Asian slayer reassured the Chosen One. "It's just, uh, making the rounds in the dorm."

"God," the blonde sighed miserably. "I just can't get a break."

Satsu shifted uncomfortably next to the elder slayer. "Uhm, in other news, I found your demon."

The despair on Buffy's face melted away and was replaced with renewed interest. "Really?"

Satsu smiled proudly. "It took a little digging, but I've got a way to find one."

Buffy hopped up from her seat. "Well c'mon then," she urged. "Let's do this."

The Asian girl looked momentarily taken aback. "R-right now?"

"Sure," Buffy stated enthusiastically. What had started out as a miserably embarrassing day was quickly looking up. "You don't have a class or anything right now, do you?"

Satsu chewed on her bottom lip. "I guess I could skip and get the notes from Kennedy later."

"Thatta girl," cheered the blonde slayer.

The Californian felt momentarily guilty that Satsu would skip class to help her. She knew she was using the young devotee, but she was desperate for this. Her situation with Faith was confusing, and she felt that if she could just get back to her orderly, if she could just see her and make sure she was okay, she'd be better able to deal with her current reality.

Buffy held out her hand to help the younger slayer stand up. Satsu took the Chosen One's offer without hesitation.

Faith's eyes went wide when she saw Buffy take the Asian slayer's hand and lead her out of the gymnasium. Even from this distance she couldn't miss the wide, brilliant smile on the dark-haired slayer's face. Satsu was nearly creaming in her pants from all of this one-on-one attention.

"_Where the hell are those two going?" _she steamed to herself. With her attention pulled away from sparring with Kennedy, Faith didn't see the other girl's kick aimed for her right knee.

Kennedy's strike connected with the side of Faith's knee. The Boston slayer's leg buckled, and she grunted before falling hard to the ground. A quiet murmur spread among the seated students. They'd never seen anyone take down Faith before.

"Never let your guard down, girls," Faith wheezed. She gingerly pulled herself off the wrestling mat, favoring her right shoulder. She tested her knee. She'd tweaked it, but not too badly. "Because when your enemy is at their weakest," she continued darkly, "they're also at their strongest." She stood to her full height. "They'll behave unpredictably; they'll stop at nothing to bring you down."

Faith jumped high and twisted her hips. Her right leg sliced through the air, her foot pointed. The side of her wrapped foot connected with Kennedy's temple. The younger slayer grunted from the impact, and her eyes rolled up into her head. She fell heavily onto the wrestling mat.

Faith looked down at the fallen girl and grimaced. She knew she'd gone too far. The junior slayers had enhanced strength and agility, but they weren't battle-tested veterans like Faith. But it was too late for apologies.

"Lesson over."

Buffy and Satsu stood outside the Academy grounds, both bundled up in winter jackets to fight the chill of the day. The sun had already begun to dip into the horizon, although it was still early, and the temperature would continue to drop as twilight faded into night.

"Where did you get that thing?" Buffy asked. She stared at the green, glowing orb in Satsu's cupped hands.

"One of the girls enrolled at the coven school conjured it for me," the Asian slayer replied, staring at the pulsing globe as well. "I think she's got a crush on me."

"Did you tell her it was for me?" Buffy asked, glancing at the young slayer nervously.

Satsu shook her head. "No, I kept your name out of it just like you asked. I told her I wanted to summon a Skench demon to prank my roommate."

"What's a Skench?"

"Think of a squatter demon with projectile phlem." Satsu grinned a rare, mischievous smile. "Kennedy hates snot."

"But this will summon the Glarg gul cashmanik, too?" Buffy asked. She hated slimy creatures, too, and hated the thought of having to fight something that might spit on her.

Satsu nodded. "I just have to change up the incantation a little bit, but it'll do the job."

"Okay," the blonde breathed. "Let's do this."

Satsu's dark eyes shifted nervously. "Ms. Summers – I mean, Buffy. What are we gonna do with the Glarg gul cashmanik once it's here?"

Buffy's hazel-green eyes narrowed slightly. "Kill it."

Faith grunted and thrust the heavy barbell up towards the ceiling. "49," she panted. "50."

"Need someone to spot you?" came a familiar voice.

Faith shifted her eyes towards the sound of the voice and recognized the red-haired witch walking into the weight room. "Naw. I got it."

She did another set before returning the straight, iron bar to its resting place. The heavy clanking noise echoed loudly in the room. "Is there somethin' ya need, Red?" Faith asked, her breathing slightly heavy from the vigorous work out she'd just pushed through. " 'Cause I didn't think you even knew where this room was."

Willow's eyes flit around the weight room. "No, I'm just checking up on things," she stated vaguely. "Are things okay?"

"Yeah," the brunette said, wiping a trickle of sweat from her forehead. "Things are fine."

"And Buffy?" the witch pressed. "Is she good, too?"

Faith's mouth twisted into a frown. The last time she'd seen Buffy, she'd been sneaking off with Satsu. The Boston slayer wiped her sweaty palms on her sweatpants. "Why don't you ask her yourself?"

Willow's face reddened. "She's, uh, been ignoring me lately."

Faith looked into the Wicca's face and tried to read her. "Is there something going on with you and B that I should know about?"

Willow worried her bottom lip. "She's, uhm, upset with me."

"Yeah, I gathered that much. Why?" Faith asked directly.

The witch sighed and her features suddenly looked haggard. "She found out I lied about how she came to be in a coma." Willow rung her hands in front of her. "The curriculum in Slayer History, at least Buffy's part….I….I kinda made up stuff. I took out the part where she died the second time fighting Glory and instead said that's why she was unconscious."

Faith stood up from the workbench. "You did _what_?"

"You said you didn't care about the curriculum," Willow shot back. "You put that all on me to come up with."

"I don't – I didn't – but I _trusted _you to tell the truth about the past," Faith yelled.

"I'm sorry," Willow retorted heatedly. "I didn't think it would be such a big deal."

"How are these girls ever going to learn from our mistakes if we don't make any?" the brunette slayer added angrily. "We're not saints, Willow. What do the History books say about me?" she snapped, feeling her anger bubbling up. "How many people did you say I killed?"

Not waiting for an answer, Faith turned to leave, feeling disgusted with the former computer nerd.

"Where are you going?" Willow demanded, not moving from her spot.

"Home," Faith snapped. "Someone's gotta babysit crazy Buffy, after all."

The two slayers, one Chosen by the Fates and the other activated by a magic spell, stood over the defeated Glarg gul cashmanik demon. It lay prone on the hard ground, its head at an awkward angle from where Buffy had broken its neck. Although the creature had put up a valiant fight, Buffy and Satsu had easily overpowered the dangerous monster.

"I need your knife," Buffy instructed.

She was pleased to discover that fighting the demon hadn't sapped her strength like she had feared. Instead, her body buzzed from her first kill in what felt like forever.

Satsu readily gave up her weapon to the blonde slayer. She gave a cry of surprise when Buffy viscously stabbed the dead creature's forearm. A pokey spear shot out of the demon's wrist. The Californian mercilessly snapped off the stake as though breaking a branch off of a tree.

"What's that for?" Satsu asked as Buffy began to stalk away from the dead demon's body.

The Chosen One barely glanced back at the other slayer. "Souvenir."

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

The Californian hovered anxiously in the kitchen while Faith sat at the small table and chomped noisily on her cereal. The Chosen One's agitation didn't go unnoticed. "You need something, B?" the brunette asked between mouthfuls. "You look like you've got ants in your pants."

Buffy seemed jumpier than usual that morning, but Faith attributed it to being her first official day at the Academy. Buffy had agreed to help her with the gymnastics class she taught to the youngest slayers. Faith assumed that with her cheerleader background, the Chosen One would be a natural. Plus, it would help her feel included and get back into some kind of routine. After some slight hesitation, Buffy had agreed. It would be more exciting than hanging out in the bleachers all day, after all.

"N-no, no, I'm fine," Buffy stumbled over her words. She cocked her thumb in the direction of the bathroom. "I'm just gonna, uh, finish getting ready for the day."

Faith nodded and continued eating her breakfast.

Buffy spun on her heels and headed towards the back of the one-bedroom apartment. Before going to the bathroom, she made a detour and entered Faith's bedroom. The Boston girl had given the room to the blonde slayer while she stayed with her, and Faith continued to sleep on the couch.

Buffy rummaged through the top dresser drawer, every creak of the wooden floor making her jump. She knew it was risky, waiting until the morning to go through with her plan, but she found herself needing some time to build up the courage to follow through with the reckless and impulsive decision.

Finally finding what she was looking for, she closed the top drawer and peaked out into the hallway. Satisfied that she wasn't going to run into the raven-haired slayer, Buffy exited the room and quickly made her way to the bathroom.

The door closed behind her and Buffy made sure to lock the bathroom door. After all she'd gone through to procure her supplies, it wouldn't do to be prematurely interrupted. She turned on the shower, although she wasn't planning on bathing. The sound of the rushing water would mask her activities and buy her more time.

Buffy removed the lid of the Tupperware container she'd retrieved from the bedroom. Inside was a thick, opaque liquid. She bent her nose toward the material and quickly sniffed, not sure what to expect. To her satisfaction, the liquid had no odor.

Buffy unwrapped a hospital syringe. Her hands seemed to shake and she paused momentarily to take a few deep breaths. She dipped the pointed end of the hollow needle into the thick liquid and pulled back the plunger. With a quiet sucking noise, the gel-like substance flowed into the syringe's container. Buffy stowed the rest of the liquid under the bathroom sink next to a toilet plunger and container of Ajax.

The Californian held the now-full syringe up to the bathroom light. She tapped on the side of the glass tube, coaxing air bubbles out of the thick liquid like she'd seen hospital staff on television shows do. She had no idea what it did, but she wanted to make sure she went through all the necessary steps, Hollywood manufactured or not.

An unexpected rap on the closed bathroom door almost caused the blonde to drop the vial. "Hey, B," came Faith's voice from the other side of the door. "Save me some hot water, okay?"

The golden-haired woman stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and bit her bottom lip. It was now or never. She looked down at the needle clenched in her hand. She didn't think she had to hit an artery. When the demon had stabbed her three years prior, it had punctured the meat of her arm.

Buffy pressed the point of the hollow needle against the inside of her right forearm. She applied more pressure and the syringe broke through her top layer of skin. The Californian squeezed her eyes shut, swallowed hard, and pushed down on the syringe's rubber stopper.

The Chosen One tried to stifle her gasp. She clenched onto her right arm; it felt like it was on fire. The pain made her think of the time she'd fallen on a fire-ant hill when she was younger during a family vacation to Florida. The syringe fell out of her paralyzed hand as the demon's venom ripped through her flesh.

Faith knocked on the bathroom door. "Buffy?" she called out with concern, hearing the noises. "You okay in there?"

The room began to spin, and the Chosen One braced herself against the bathroom sink. Buffy groaned. "I am now."

Buffy opened her eyes and gasped, sucking in deep breaths of air as if she'd been submerged in water and had just surfaced. Her eyes flittered around the small room she now found herself in, trying to quickly regain her bearings. She was in a hospital – again. But she didn't recognize the room this time.

The blonde threw back the thin, blue blanket covering her form and hopped out of the hospital bed. She immediately went to the windows and threw open the curtains. Sunshine streamed in from the outside. Buffy expected to see snowdrifts beyond the windowpanes, but her heart swelled when she saw nothing but green grass and palm trees. Her plan had worked. She was back in Los Angeles.

Buffy took the time to inspect her body more closely. Her body felt sore, which wasn't surprising considering she'd been in a car accident. Three years had passed in the Sunnydale version of her life, but she didn't know how much time had passed since she'd last been lucid in this world.

Since she'd been able to vault out of her bed, she apparently didn't have any broken bones. There was no mirror on her half of the room, so she couldn't tell if her face was badly bruised or scarred. Her bare arms and legs revealed the light shadows of faded bruises. Buffy knew all-too-well the rainbow of colors bruises go through before they heal. Her own bumps were at the end stages, just a faint yellow discolorization on her skin.

At the foot of her bed she found a clipboard with her medical chart. She grabbed the papers and scanned the pages for any useful information. Under "name" it read: Jane Doe. Buffy hadn't had any form of identification on her when they'd been in the car accident.

She read further down the chart to try to piece together all that had happened. Apparently she'd been unconscious upon arrival, although she hadn't needed the assistance of a respirator to aid her breathing. And although she hadn't broken any bones, there had been some internal damages that surgeons had repaired.

Buffy peaked down the front of her loose hospital gown. Her eyes grew wide when she saw a bruise splayed across her chest, no doubt caused by the life-saving seatbelt she'd been wearing. Further down, across her abdomen, she found a wide piece of hospital gauze taped to her body.

Not caring that at any moment a member of the hospital's staff could enter the room, Buffy stripped out of her hospital gown to better inspect her wound. The blonde carefully pulled away the opaque medical tape to reveal a long line of dark stitches. The slayer shuddered. The stitches looked fresh and almost primal against her pale skin.

Buffy returned the medical tape to its original position and pulled her hospital gown back on. With worries about her own physical health now somewhat sated, her next thoughts went to the woman who'd been in the car with her – the hospital orderly – Faith's doppelganger. She had to find her, somehow, but first she needed more appropriate clothes. She doubted the hospital would allow someone in a flimsy gown to casually stroll out the front doors.

The Californian began to quietly rummage through her half of the room. All the dressers were empty, however. Not to be discouraged, the blonde crossed the room where she expected to find another patient hiding behind the partition that bifurcated the room.

It was darker in the other half of the room. The room's partition blocked out the sunlight coming from the windowed side, and the overhead lights were turned off. Buffy silently opened the dresser drawers and the closet on the other side of the room, but still came up empty handed. She hazarded a glance in the direction of the second hospital bed. A woman lay sleeping on her back.

A sudden sense of dread dropped Buffy's stomach. She abandoned her search for real clothes and tentatively approached her roommate's hospital bed. As she inched closer, she saw the cast on the woman's right arm. Another, more cumbersome cast wrapped around the entire length of her right leg, from her upper thigh, down to her toes.

Buffy stood over the seemingly sleeping woman. Even with the shadows of the room, Buffy recognized the familiar shade of brunette hair.

"Oh no," Buffy whispered. She placed a soft, hesitant hand against her savior's badly bruised face.

Battered, half her body seemingly shattered, she looked so small and frail. And even though she looked exactly like her sister-Slayer, Buffy knew it wasn't Faith. All the strength and vitality had been drained from this hospitalized girl.

Buffy froze when she heard the rattle of the door behind her opening. She turned on her heels, half expecting to see a nurse enter. She gasped, however, when she recognized the woman who stepped into the room.

"Dr. Primrose?"

Faith rapped on the bathroom door again, this time louder. "B, stop hoggin' the bathroom," she complained. "You don't need to get any prettier. The girls will like you just the way you are."

When the Californian still failed to respond, Faith tilted her head towards the closed door and strained her hearing for any movement on the other side.

"Fuck," she grunted lowly.

Leaning her shoulder towards the plywood door, Faith sucked in a sharp breath. "I'm never gonna get my security deposit back," she lamented aloud.

The Boston girl crushed her body against the flimsy door. It creaked and she could barely see light coming through the jam. She rammed her shoulder against the door a second time. With a loud grunt, she slammed her figure against the door a third time, and the bathroom door flew open, the plywood door jam splintering from the impact.

Faith pushed the door more fully open, but the door would only open so far. The Boston girl's stomach dropped when she realized what was blocking the doorway – Buffy's body.

The brunette dropped to her knees. "Shit, B. What did you do to yourself this time?

Buffy's head was slumped forward, her eyes open, yet vacant. Her immobile body was held up only by the bathtub supporting her back.

Faith felt Buffy's neck for a pulse and breathed a sigh of relief when she felt a steady throb. "C'mon, B," she coaxed, hefting Buffy's lifeless body up slightly. "Wake up."

A tiny glimmer of silver caught Faith's attention. "What the…"

Faith grabbed the empty needle and syringe off the bathmat. She glared at Buffy. "What the fuck did you do to yourself this time?

Faith slapped Buffy's right cheek. "C'mon, B," she snarled, her fear for Buffy's safety now turning into anger. "Wake up, ya fuckin' junkie."

"What are you doing here?" Buffy asked the psychiatrist.

Dr. Primrose closed the door behind her with a soft click. Her face showed little emotion. "I'm visiting you, of course," she stated simply.

"But how? How did you find us?" the blonde demanded.

The mental doctor ignored Buffy's question for a moment. Instead, she pulled back the center partition, allowing sunlight to reach all corners of the room. She sat down in a chair near the former orderly's bed.

"Why don't you have a seat, Buffy?" she calmly requested.

Buffy crossed her arms over her chest. "Tell me how you found me, first."

"The first responders couldn't find any identification on you, but they found her old hospital ID," the doctor calmly noted, "so they called me when they couldn't track down any relatives in the area. All of her family is on the East Coast."

Buffy bit down on her lip. "Is she going to be okay?"

The doctor looked suddenly tired as if the question had drained her energy. "Physically, she'll probably recover after many months of physical therapy," she observed. "She's currently heavily sedated, and hasn't been conscious much since the accident a few days ago. Once she wakes up though, she'll certainly have some consequences to face. No thanks to you," she added.

Buffy's eyes dropped to the floor. "I didn't want to get her in trouble, Doctor. I just couldn't stay there."

Dr. Primrose crossed her legs and set her hands on her knee. "Why are you here, Buffy?" she questioned.

"Because some asshole driver t-boned our car," the blonde stated matter-of-factly.

"No, why are you _here _instead of Sunnydale?" the female doctor pressed.

Buffy walked away from the doctor and stood close to the window on the far side of the room. She stared out the windowpane. There was no snow, only palm trees and sunshine. "Sunnydale doesn't exist anymore," she said quietly.

Dr. Primrose pursed her lips. "Interesting. Please continue."

"I still haven't gotten the whole story," the blonde sighed, turning from the window, "but somehow we're in Cleveland now. What the hell happened to my warm weather and sandy beaches?" Buffy complained bitterly. "I get what, Lake Erie?"

"It's crumbling, Buffy," the doctor stated.

"And now there's two thousand slayers," Buffy continued her rant. The more she revealed to the doctor, the angrier she became. "It was bad enough when Kendra and Faith showed up and there were two of us at once. But now it's like being a Slayer isn't even a special thing anymore. Plus," she added heatedly, "everyone's moved on. All of my friends have these great lives that I'm not a part of. They don't need me."

"Then why go back?"

Buffy flicked her eyes from the doctor to the orderly who was still comatose in her hospital bed. It was a brief glance, but not so brief that Dr. Primrose didn't notice it.

"It's Faith, isn't it?"

Buffy didn't respond. She worried her bottom lip.

"Faith." Dr. Primrose rolled the name around her tongue. "Her name, Buffy. Doesn't it strike you as ironic?"

"With a name like 'Buffy,' it's not my place to be calling people out on dumb first names."

"No, no," the doctor shook her head. "Ironic," she re-emphasized the word. "It means something both coincidental and contradictory. Think about it – _faith_ – believing in something bigger than yourself. Having trust without having proof that something really exists."

"Doc, you're making my brain hurt," Buffy complained.

Dr. Primrose uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. "Well, let me put it another way –,"

"No, really," Buffy abruptly interrupted. She pressed both palms flat against her forehead as a searing hot pain ripped through her cranium. "My head – it feels like it's splitting in half."

Buffy's body began to shake as if having a seizure.

"Shit. This is not good," the brunette slayer cursed. Faith sat on the bathroom floor and positioned herself so her body was between the bathtub and the blonde slayer. The Boston girl's arms went rigid around her sister-Slayer's form, and she hugged Buffy's twitching body against her own.

Faith tried to hold Buffy's head erect and motionless so she wouldn't slam her head against anything. But despite her best efforts, dark crimson blood began to seep out of the Chosen One's nostrils.

"Don't do this to me, Buffy. Don't you fucking do this," Faith yelled at the unresponsive slayer.

A wave of panic flushed over Faith, and she held onto the blonde's convulsing body the best she could.

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

Buffy's eyes slowly fluttered open. It took her a moment to realize where she was. That horrible wallpaper could mean only one thing – she was back in Cleveland. She sat up in bed and was surprised to feel slightly woozy as if she was on a boat or had had too much to drink the previous night.

She was also surprised to discover she wasn't alone in her hospital room. Faith sat in an uncomfortable-looking plastic chair that looked better placed in a public school than in a hospital. The brunette's features were creased, her clothes rumbled, and her head was buried in a book.

"Why do I keep waking up in hospitals?" the blonde croaked out.

Faith looked up from her book. Her face didn't reveal if she was surprised or excited to see the other slayer awake. Instead, she stared icily at the Chosen One.

"Maybe if you didn't keep doing dumb shit," Faith cursed, "you'd have different results. You know what the definition of insanity is, right?"

Buffy cringed at the Boston girl's use of the word 'insanity.' She wasn't crazy. And she could prove it now.

"I knew things were bad, but I didn't think you'd turn to drugs," Faith continued accusatorily. "What I don't know is what you did to yourself. The doctors couldn't find anything in your system, but I know you weren't clean. I found the syringe."

"I didn't do drugs!" Buffy protested. "At least…" She hesitated. Did demon venom count as a drug? "… not really."

"So what is it then?" the other slayer pressed impatiently. "What's your big excuse, Buffy? What's the reason behind you seizing out on my bathroom floor and freakin' the shit outta me? Let's hear it."

The Californian cocked her head to the side and looked over the other slayer. "What exactly happened?" she asked. "And why am I back here in the hospital?"

Faith scowled and set her book down. "I bust into the bathroom 'cause you weren't responding. You were on the ground, unconscious. I tried to get you to come to, but suddenly you started shake." The Boston woman's tone softened. "It was really fuckin' scary, Buffy," she revealed. "It was like the Exorcist or some shit. You even had blood leakin' out your nose."

Buffy frowned and immediately wiped at her nostrils. She didn't _feel _any differently than before she'd injected herself with the demon's poison. But that didn't mean she wouldn't eventually get sick if she kept this up.

The golden-locked girl rubbed at her face with her hands. She felt guilty for having put the other Slayer through such a scare, but she'd done what she thought needed doing. "I'm _not _crazy, Faith," she mumbled for what felt like the thousandth time.

"That may be," the brunette said softly, "but if you keep being so self-destructive, you're gonna have a hard time convincing me otherwise."

Buffy looked up, an idea having crept into her brain. "Back at your apartment, you'll find a small Tupperware container under the sink in the bathroom. Bring it to me," the blonde instructed, "and I can _prove _to you that I'm not crazy."

Faith remained seated, silently staring at the other slayer.

"Please, Faith," Buffy implored. "It's really important to me."

Faith worked her jaw muscles, clenching and unclenching her back jaw. "Fine."

An hour later, Faith returned to Buffy's hospital room with a grocery bag. Inside the bag was a plastic container with a small amount of thick, transparent liquid sloshing around inside.

She felt guilty bringing the container into the hospital. She felt like she was betraying the trust of the hospital staff whose confidence she'd gained over the years. She justified her covert actions however. She was doing this for Buffy. Whatever the blonde had to show her, maybe it would help her get beyond what had happened to her the past few years and everyone could move forward.

Faith fished the Tupperware container out of the bag. "Here," she grunted, setting the plastic box on a bedside table.

"I need a syringe, too," Buffy stated.

"How about I steal some medical marijuana while I'm at it?" Faith complained.

"Just this one more thing, Fai," the Chosen One pleaded. "Please."

The Boston girl hated herself for giving in to the blonde so easily. She growled incoherently and left Buffy's room to find a supply closet. When she returned, she handed the medical supplies and the Tupperware container to Buffy.

"Now what?" the brunette asked impatiently. She glanced toward the open hospital room anxiously. She knew a doctor or nurse could walk in on them at any time.

Buffy busied herself with filling the syringe's vial with the opaque liquid. "If this works, I'll see you soon."

"If what works?" the raven-haired girl questioned, turning her head away from the door.

The brunette was unprepared when Buffy stabbed the hospital needle into her arm and flooded her insides with the mystery liquid.

A look of shock and pain passed over Faith's face. She grabbed onto her arm and crumbled to her knees. She stared up at the bedridden slayer with disbelief, but was unable to mutter a syllable.

Buffy chewed on her bottom lip. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "But I had to make you believe."

There was still liquid leftover in the syringe. Buffy held her breath and stabbed her own arm. The remaining demon venom re-entered her system.

It was a faster and less painful transition than the last time. Instead of the world slowly spinning around her, Buffy's sight filled with a white flash of light. When the blinding brightness melted away, she found herself still in a hospital bed, but this time she was back in Los Angeles like she had planned.

"What the hell?" came a sharp outburst from the other bed in the room.

Buffy felt a surge of relief when she recognized the raspy voice. "I can explain," she quickly told her disoriented sister-Slayer.

Faith nearly fell out of her hospital bed when she realized that one half of her body was encased in various slings and casts. "What the fuck did you do to me now?" she demanded.

"Stop flailing," Buffy ordered. "You're just going to hurt yourself."

"Well I seem to have done a pretty good job of that already," the bruised brunette pointed out. "God damn it," the Boston woman groaned. "I feel like someone ran me over with a truck."

A nervous giggle escaped Buffy's mouth. "That's because someone kind of did."

"How the hell did that happen?" Faith questioned. "I don't remember a goddamn thing."

"Well it didn't happen to _you_, per say," the Chosen One mused.

Faith stared hard at the blonde girl. "Consider your next words carefully, B," she warned. " 'Cause you're sounding crazier and crazier by the minute."

Buffy hopped out of bed. "Okay, so just hear me out," she pled. "I know Willow was probably foggy with all the details of what I was going through, but that's because I really didn't tell anyone everything that was happening."

The Californian's body was quivering from excitement. Faith was here in Los Angeles with her. Her hastily-made plan had actually worked. Now all she had to do was explain to her how and what was happening.

Buffy sucked in a deep breath. "Let me start from the beginning," she started. "About three years ago a demon stabbed me when I was out patrolling one night. At the time I thought it had just kind of staked me; but the demon had actually infected me with its venom."

The blonde began pacing back and forth in the room as more and more of her story tumbled out. "I started to hallucinate. Suddenly the demon _and _Sunnydale weren't there anymore. It brought me to _this _world where vampires and demons don't exist, and I was just a crazy person at an asylum."

"So we're at an asylum?" Faith asked slowly.

"No, we're at a hospital in Los Angeles," Buffy stated, standing still. "I broke out of the asylum."

Faith's face revealed no emotion. "I still don't understand what this has to do with me." She elevated her broken leg slightly. "Or how I got all busted up."

The Californian chewed on her bottom lip. "Okay, so here comes the weird part."

"I can't wait," Faith scoffed.

Buffy ignored the Boston slayer's sarcasm. This was the hardest part of the story.

"You exist in this alternate reality. Not _you_, Faith the Vampire Slayer," she clarified, "but a woman who looks and sounds _just _like you. I met her while I was at the asylum. She worked there."

Buffy sat down on the edge of her bed. Memories of the orderly and all she had done for her suddenly made the Chosen One feel melancholy. "She-she helped me escape from the asylum," she remembered in a quiet voice. "But then we got in a car accident –,"

"Were you driving?" the brunette interrupted with a cheeky grin.

Buffy's face soured. "Not the point. We got in a car accident, and I guess the impact or the trauma of it shocked me back to Sunnydale. Only when I woke up, I was in Cleveland because you blew up Sunnydale while I was in a coma."

"More like it _imploded_," the other slayer seemed to apologize.

Buffy made a disgruntled sound. "All these details? Not important."

"So lemme see if I got this," the raven-haired woman started. "We're not in Cleveland. We're in Los Angeles. But not in the LA I know…we're in some alternate dimension." She paused. "Where I work at an asylum."

"Oh! And I haven't even told you the best part!" the blonde burst out. "Dawn's not my sister; she's my daughter!" Buffy felt on the verge of a nervous breakdown. She _had _to make Faith believe.

A sudden thought flashed into her head. "Your scar," Buffy said excitedly. "Check. It's not there."

Faith knew immediately to what Buffy was referring. Although a little vitamin E could have made the jagged line fade, the Boston girl wore the scar tissue as a reminder of where she'd come from and how much she'd changed for the better.

She lifted her blue hospital-issued shirt to reveal a flat, toned stomach. But where the Boston slayer had become accustomed to seeing a pink thread of scarred flesh, was nothing. Faith ran her fingers over the smooth skin.

"Holy shit," she mumbled under her breath.

"See?" Buffy stated triumphantly. "We're not in our regular dimension. You're in _her _body."

Faith's dark eyebrows furrowed together. "But how would you know…" she trailed off.

Buffy swallowed hard. She didn't need the other girl to finish her sentence to know what the question was about. "Because…she and I…"

"Holy shit." Faith's mouth fell open. "You fucked my doppelganger." She felt as though her head was going to rupture from all the new information her brain was trying to take in.

Buffy winced at the raw language. "We…we had a _relationship_," she tried to explain. "I don't know exactly what to call it besides that."

"Wait, how can I be _here_, in this body," Faith wondered aloud, "when supposedly it belongs to someone else?"

"I'm not entirely sure about that," Buffy said shaking her head. "The best I can figure is that since she was unconscious the last time I saw her, your mind is stronger than hers and is holding down the fort."

Faith blew out a long breath. With her unbroken hand she scratched at the back of her neck. "How did we even get here, wherever that is?"

Buffy's eyes dropped to the floor. "I gave you demon venom."

The brunette slayer sat up stiffer in bed. "You _poisoned _me?"

Buffy hopped off the edge of her bed again "No!" she insisted in a sharp tone. "I just …" She sighed and her words came out dripping with remorse. "I wanted you to see that I'm not crazy."

Faith was silent for a moment. "How did you know it would work?"

"I honestly didn't," Buffy admitted.

"And yet you still tried it on me," the brunette grumbled.

"I'm sorry." Buffy futilely apologized. "But I had to make you _see_."

"I would have believed you if you would have just explained it to me, B," Faith vented. "I'm not some Doubting Thomas."

"Really?" Buffy choked out.

"Buffy. We're slayers. We kill vampires and demons," the younger woman reminded her. "Why _wouldn't _I believe that you traveled to another dimension where none of that was real?"

"No one else believed me," the blonde stubbornly pouted. "They thought I was sick."

"Well now we can go back, and I'll tell them that you're not crazy," Faith appeased. "By the way, how do we get back?"

Buffy blinked a few times.

"Um."

She hadn't thought that far ahead.

Faith's eyes narrowed. "Buffy. _How do we get back?_"

TBC


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

"I can't believe we're stuck here!" Faith complained. "Whatever happened to you and your great plan-making?"

Buffy frowned. "Yelling at me isn't going to help," she lamely protested.

"Then what _will _help?" the disgruntled brunette practically growled. " 'Cause from where I'm sittin' right now, we're in a shitload of trouble."

"I'll figure something out," Buffy retorted. "Just let me think."

"Oh, this should be good," Faith scoffed.

Buffy shot the younger slayer a glare.

Faith threw up her hands. "Fine. I'll keep my mouth shut," she grumbled.

"The first thing we need is a little privacy," Buffy thought out loud. "Having doctors and nurses popping in here is just going to make things worse. We're both supposed to be unconscious, after all."

The blonde woman walked away from the two beds towards the entrance to their room. She peaked out into the hallway. Seeing nothing of interest, she closed the door to their joint room. There was no lock on the inside of the door, so Buffy dragged a chair from one side of the room and jammed it under the doorknob.

"You look like you've done that before," Faith observed.

The elder slayer flashed the Boston girl a quick smile on her return to her bedside. "My mom wouldn't let us have locks on our bedroom doors," Buffy explained. "And I had to keep Dawn out somehow."

"So now what?" Faith asked.

"I have some ideas." Buffy chewed on her thumbnail. "But you're not going to like them."

Faith raised an eyebrow. "Fire away," she urged. "I figure anything is better than the big 'ol nothing we've got going for us right now."

"Okay…so…" Buffy started with a deep breath. "I got pretty good at flashing back and forth between the two worlds when the demon venom was still fresh in my system. I could just concentrate on being in either of the places and ta-da I'd zip back and forth. But sometimes," she grimaced, remembering, "I would drift away without even trying."

Faith was quiet for a moment, considering the blonde's words. "Can you go back to Cleveland right now on your own?"

Buffy looked thoughtful at the suggestion. "Maybe. Let me…" she trailed off as she sat down on the edge of Faith's bed.

The golden-haired woman concentrated hard, trying to recreate the Cleveland hospital in her mind. The scents and sights swarmed her memory. The ugly wallpaper. The scratchy, over-starched sheets. The unexplainable lingering smell of macaroni and cheese.

Buffy's stomach suddenly wrenched and the world flashed by her like a tsunami obliterating its surroundings. She reached for something to steady herself. She felt like the wave was going to wash her away as well. But just as she felt herself slipping away, the ground suddenly became solid beneath her feet. And she was back – back in Cleveland.

"Holy hell," she muttered to herself, taking a moment to catch her breath.

Buffy gained stock of her surroundings. Nothing had changed since she'd last been in this room, except for the fact that Faith's body was on the ground. The sight alone caused a chill to rack Buffy's body.

The normally vibrant slayer lay prone on the hospital linoleum. Her dark, chocolate eyes stared out, lifeless and unresponsive. Instinctively, Buffy pressed two fingers against the pressure point in Faith's neck. She could feel the brunette's pulse thrumming hard and defiantly against the tips of her digits.

Thinking quickly, Buffy closed the door to this hospital room just as she'd done back in Los Angeles. With little effort, she hefted Faith's lifeless form off the cold floor and repositioned her back on the chair where she'd been previously sitting.

Buffy took a moment to resituate the girl so it appeared she was still reading a book, just as she had been before Buffy had regained consciousness. Even though it was grim work, Buffy couldn't help but feel like she was on _Weekend at Bernie's_, moving Faith's limbs into a reasonable position.

"How will I know you're gone?" Faith's voice filled her ears.

Buffy jumped away from Faith's unconscious figure. She'd _heard _the Boston woman's voice, but her mouth hadn't moved.

"Oh God," she groaned. She reached out to clutch something, anything, as it felt like someone had pulled the floor out from under her feet and she was now free-falling. Buffy closed her eyes. An unbearable pressure seized her body like she was being crushed beneath a heavy weight.

And just as unexpectedly as the uncomfortableness had started, it stopped.

Buffy blinked a few times, allowing the Los Angeles hospital room to refocus. Her sight was fuzzy and her head felt like she was underwater. "Huh?" she asked. She shook her head. She'd slipped back to the Los Angeles reality without even trying.

"If it works," Faith clarified, "how will I know you're not really here anymore? I mean, when you visited me at the prison, I…I didn't know you'd left."

"I just went to Cleveland," Buffy told the girl. She felt her forehead; she felt flushed and sweaty.

Faith's eyes went wide. "What? When? How?"

The blonde woman shrugged. "It was just for a minute. I checked in on us. You're sitting in the chair by my hospital bed. It just looks like you fell asleep reading your book, so no one knows anything weird is going on."

"Wow. That was…wow." Faith's eyes dropped to her hands. She was silent, but Buffy could see her carefully weighing her next words. "Maybe you should go back."

"No!" Buffy blurted out. Realizing that being loud right now and calling the attention of the hospital staff wasn't going to help their situation, she dropped her voice to a more normal tone. "There's no way I'm leaving you here," she hissed.

"I'm sure you and Willow could figure out a way to fish me outta this dimension," Faith said seriously. "Better one of us is back there than both of us being stuck."

The blonde shook her head violently. "No. And that's final, Faith. This isn't up for discussion."

"Fine," the younger slayer grunted. "So now what?" she pressed. "I'm busted up and don't have Slayer healing here," she pointed out. "They're not going to just let us walk out of here when I _can't _walk."

Buffy worried her bottom lip. Maybe she could sneak them out of the hospital and they could hide out in Faith's twin's apartment until they figured something else out. She also worried that once news of their escape leaked out, Dr. Primrose would come looking for them, and the hospital orderly would get in even more trouble long after Buffy and Faith had made it back to Cleveland. Plus, if the orderly woke up someplace that wasn't the hospital, how was she going to deal with the broken arm and shattered leg? Buffy would just have to find a way to get Faith back to Cleveland here at the hospital.

Her gut dropped at the thought. The most reliable avenues for return were going to be awkward, embarrassing, and all-together painful.

Buffy's face contorted as if in pain. "So remember how I said you weren't going to like my ideas for getting back?"

"Yeah?"

The Californian's body heaved a great sigh. "Well here's Idea Number 1."

"Y-you want to what?" Faith cried out in disbelief.

Buffy cringed at the brunette's reaction. "I didn't say I _wanted _to; it's just to get you back to the other dimension," she insisted.

"What's Idea Number 2?" Faith asked weakly.

Buffy hid her face behind her hands. "Violence."

"So my options are having sex with you, or letting you beat me up," Faith deadpanned, still not believing what the blonde was suggesting.

"Maybe, um, you should go in my bed," the blonde bashfully proposed.

Faith's features crunched together. "Why?"

"We could put the privacy curtain up," Buffy noted. "So we, uh, don't get interrupted."

Faith's mouth went dry and she coughed. "Uh, B, I don't wanna seem ungrateful, but, uh, I'm not sure Idea Number One will work. I mean, I'm not gonna be able to, uh, participate. What with my broken bones and all."

Buffy averted her eyes, feeling a blush creep up to the tips of her ears. "You don't have to do anything. I'll, uh, do all the work."

Faith licked her lips. "Okay, sure." She stammered on her words momentarily, not wanting to sound or look too eager. "I mean, uh, if it's gonna help us get back, I guess we'd better try." She swung her legs over the edge of her bed. "Help me outta this thing, eh?"

Buffy went to Faith's bedside and the brunette threw her good arm over Buffy's shoulder. Together the two powerless slayers maneuvered Faith off the bed.

The blonde's hands went around the taller woman's waist. Buffy felt her heart race from being so close to the attractive slayer. Her body just felt _so good._ But she had to remind herself that it wasn't _really _Faith's body, and they were just doing this to get back to Cleveland.

With Buffy stabilizing her, Faith hopped over to the twin-sized bed furthest from the door. The golden-haired slayer helped the younger girl settle back onto the bed and then readjusted the privacy curtain that bifurcated the small room.

When she was done, Buffy hovered near the bed's edge, hesitation.

"Is something wrong, B?"

"There's no room," Buffy complained in a childlike tone. "The bed's too small."

Faith couldn't help the grin that crept onto her lips. "Guess you'll just have to climb on top."

"What about your leg?" Buffy worried.

"There's painkillers for that," Faith laughed. "Get up here, Cutie."

Buffy nodded and then carefully, gingerly climbed up the bed.

"I somehow imagined this being less painful," Faith joked. She winced when Buffy's knobby knees knocked into her cast-covered leg. "I see you're trying to combine Ideas Number One and Two."

"I'm sorry!" Buffy protested. "I'm being as careful as I can."

Faith wheezed a little when Buffy accidently jarred her arm. "Don't worry, Princess. I always like a little pain with my sex."

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Buffy complained. She'd finally positioned herself atop the younger slayer.

"Hey, don't give me that," the Bostonian protested, looking up at the beautiful blonde currently straddling her. "You're the one who suggested it. Not me."

As if jumping into a frigid pool before giving herself the opportunity to change her mind, Buffy plunged in and eagerly pressed her lips against Faith's unexpecting mouth.

Buffy pulled back and raised an eyebrow at the taller girl. "Do you feel any different?"

"Uh, I'm a little light-headed," the brunette woman admitted, "but I don't know if that's just from your tongue."

Buffy blushed deeper. "I'm just doing this to get us back to Cleveland," she reminded the girl.

"Uh huh," Faith smirked.

"I'm serious, Faith," Buffy pouted. "Remember when I visited you in prison? I drifted back to Los Angeles when we, uhm…."

Even though their situation was dire, Faith couldn't help but revel a bit. She loved to see Buffy squirm with such discomfort. "Time's a wastin,' " the brunette said impatiently. "Get to it, girlfriend."

Buffy bit down on her lower lip. She carefully slid her hands under Faith's loose hospital top. The brunette slightly shivered and Buffy's cooler hands stroked along her hot, naked flesh. Buffy's breath caught in her throat as she brought her hands up to the younger woman's shapely breasts. Faith wore no bra under her hospital outfit, and Buffy's fingers were immediately greeted with soft, pliable flesh.

"Do you feel anything now?" Buffy felt like that stupid Verizon cell phone guy. She rolled Faith's right nipple between two fingers.

Faith bit down on her lower lip to stifle the whimper. "Uhn, n-nothing different yet."

She had to remind herself that she wasn't _really _having sex with Buffy. It was more like a science experiment. She couldn't help but observe that for an experiment, it felt pretty damn good. If lab had been this fun, maybe she would have kept going to school.

"How about this?" Buffy slid her hand down the front of Faith's cotton pants. Her fingers easily passed the elastic band of the hospital uniform. The blonde's fingers tickled through a light covering of coarse hairs.

"Oh God," the brunette groaned. She pressed her forehead into Buffy's upper arm.

Buffy ran the tip of her middle finger down the center of Faith's hot slit. Her naked skin felt warm and slightly damp.

Faith resisted the urge to buck into the blonde or at least take control of the situation. Firstly, she didn't want Buffy to think she was actually _enjoying _this. Secondly, she couldn't really do much of anything like she wanted to – at least not with a broken arm and a seemingly shattered leg and hipbone.

When someone knocked on the door to their room, Buffy's hand froze inside of Faith's pants.

Faith's eyes shifted in the direction of the door. "Are you expecting someone?" she asked in a quiet, yet strangled voice.

Buffy shook her head. "Maybe they'll go away," she hopefully noted, her hand not leaving Faith's pants.

The blonde brushed her slippery fingers across Faith's sensitive nub. The Boston girl bit down hard on her lower lip to keep from screaming out.

The knocking at the hospital door persisted.

"What do we do?" Faith whispered. Her insides felt on fire.

Buffy frowned. "I don't know."

Reluctantly, Buffy climbed off the other slayer and made her way to the closed hospital door. She moved the small curtain that shaded the window on the door to one side. The blonde relaxed when she saw neither Dr. Primrose nor the police on the other side. Instead, an innocuous looking man in his mid-twenties hovered beyond the threshold. Buffy assumed he didn't work at the hospital since he was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans

Buffy removed the chair from in front of the door and opened the door a crack. "Hi, uh, can I help you with something?"

The man's mouth twisted into a hard frown. "Yeah, you can start off by telling me where my girlfriend is."

Buffy's jaw dropped. "Your…your girlfriend?" she sputtered. She imperceptibly closed the door a little more, limiting the man's view of inside of the room.

"Yeah. My girlfriend," Jarrod stated impatiently. "I got a call from some doctor at that loony-bin where she works. She told me she'd been in a car accident," he informed the blonde. "I'm apparently her emergency contact."

The Chosen One's head spun from the new information.

"She's, uh, she's sleeping right now," Buffy quickly lied. She self-consciously hid her right hand behind her back – the hand that had just moments ago been inside of Faith's pants.

The man looked up and down the blonde's figure. "And who are you exactly?"

"A nurse," Buffy easily lied. "I work here."

"Why are you dressed like a patient, then?" the man pressed.

"It's a new thing we're trying. Everyone dresses the same so no one feels like there's a hierarchy," Buffy babbled. She needed to get rid of this guy because her lies were quickly running out. "You know, so the patients don't think we think we're better than them. It's all very progressive."

The orderly's boyfriend looked unconvinced. "Why can't I come in and see her?"

"Visiting hours are over," Buffy remarked.

The man's features troubled. "That's not what they said at the front desk."

"She has different visiting hours because of her condition," Buffy offered.

The unexpected visitor pushed out a deep breath as if trying to control his anger. "Okay," he stated in a careful tone. "When she wakes up, will you tell her I visited?"

Buffy nodded. "Sure thing. As soon as she wakes up." Without giving the suspicious man another moment of her time, Buffy shut the door in his face and returned the chair to its position under the doorknob.

The Californian made her way back to Faith who remained laying in the second bed on the other side of the privacy partition.

Faith looked up when she heard the blonde's footsteps. "Who was that?" she asked.

"Your boyfriend." Buffy's features were marred by a frown. "You never told me you had a boyfriend."

Faith looked confused. "I don't…"

"Not _you _you," Buffy interrupted, shaking her head. "The other you."

Faith's features scrunched together before she understood what Buffy was referring to. "Oh," she stated. "The _other _me. Buffy, we've gotta get back to Cleveland before that dude comes back," Faith stated animatedly. "I'm a pretty good liar, but he's gonna know something is up if we ever meet face-to-face."

Buffy nodded. "I know."

"So what now?" Faith asked. She cast her eyes away from the blonde's painfully attractive features. "Do we, uh, keep trying the sex thing?"

Buffy chewed on her lower lip. As much as she was enjoying their 'experiment,' she needed to get them back to Cleveland before too much more time had passed.

She shook her head. "Time for Idea Number Two."

The blonde curled her hand into a tight fist and launched it at Faith's face. The Boston slayer yelled out in surprise and pain. A sharp sting shot through Buffy's fingers and arm as her knuckles made contact with the dark slayer's nose.

TBC


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

The teakettle shrieked loudly on the gas range. Faith removed the boiling water from the stovetop and carefully poured the scalding liquid into two ceramic mugs. She dipped a teabag into each of the cups and transported them to the small table in the center of her eat-in kitchen.

"Thanks," Buffy smiled, gratefully taking the steaming cup of tea.

Faith sat down across from the smaller slayer. She watched Buffy cup the ceramic mug between her hands and gingerly blow across the top of her tea. Barely visible wisps of steam curled in the air.

After punching Faith in the face, the shock and the jolt of pain had vaulted the Boston girl back to Cleveland. Buffy had followed soon afterwards once she removed the chair from blocking the door to their room. Before willing herself back to the Cleveland hospital, she'd hopped into the empty bed. The hospital staff would have a mystery once they discovered the bodies in the room had changed beds, but that wasn't Buffy's problem anymore.

The two slayers had returned to Cleveland just in time; Willow was about to relieve Faith of her Buffy-watching duties. When the two regained consciousness, the redheaded woman was just outside the door.

Things were still tense between the slayers and the free-wheeling witch. Neither woman was ready to totally forgive the redhead for re-writing history, but Willow eagerly agreed to rework the Slayer History curriculum with both Buffy and Faith's help.

After a little research, Willow found a remedy to make sure Faith and Buffy wouldn't keep slipping from one reality to the next. Using the heart of the demon whose venom had caused all the chaos, she had made a potion to help cement the slayers to this world. She suggested brewing it with tea to make the mixture more palpable.

Now that the two slayers had returned to Faith's apartment, the two had nothing left to do but ingest the potion and talk about what had happened. Neither woman, however, seemed ready to breach the topic of Idea Number One.

Faith toyed with the paper square at the end of the tea bag. "Will you tell me about her?"

Buffy looked up from her own mug. "You mean…the other you?"

Faith nodded and met Buffy's gaze. "I'm just curious is all."

"Uh, well," the blonde began, not sure what to say or where to start. "She looks exactly like you."

Faith smirked. "Caught that much."

"And she worked at the hospital where I was."

"Like a doctor or something?" Faith asked. She watched the blonde slayer over the rim of her cup as she took a tentative sip of the hot beverage.

"No…she just…" Buffy furrowed her forehead. "I don't know what her title was exactly. She hung out with me. We played board games. We talked." The elder slayer sighed and looked down into her mug of tea. "She was the only one at that place who didn't treat me like I was crazy. I guess that was part of the attraction," Buffy mused aloud.

"And you and her…you know," Faith wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Buffy nodded, surprised that she wasn't blushing. "In the asylum and then at her apartment when she helped me escape," she confirmed.

"Dang, Blondie," the Boston girl laughed, not unkindly. "Lookit you gettin' your inter-dimensional groove on."

Buffy shrugged, her thin shoulders rising and falling. "I felt…connected to her," she confessed. "She was your clone, so there was that. But it just was easy to be around her."

"Is that why you kissed me in prison?" Faith asked. Buffy's gaze blazed into her own, forcing Faith to drop her eyes down to her hands.

"No." Buffy shook her head. "I wasn't pretending, if that's what you're insinuating. And I was very much aware that it was _you_, and not her."

Faith could tell that the blonde's mood had perceptibly darkened. "What's wrong?" the brunette asked, worried she had said the wrong thing.

"It's just…" Buffy started and then sighed frustratedly, "is it crazy that I'm upset to find out she had a boyfriend all this time? I feel like I was the Other Woman," she laughed at herself. "Or like a dirty mistress."

Faith smiled gently at the other woman. "Not crazy at all, B," she murmured. Nothing about you is crazy."

"Thanks for that," the blonde returned appreciatively. She took another careful sip of her hot tea. It didn't taste entirely unpleasant, but she certainly didn't want to do this again – kind of a mixture of mint tea and seaweed.

In their joint silence, Faith self-consciously felt over her features, stopping at her nose. She could almost feel the ghost of pain from where she remembered being hit in the face. But since Buffy hadn't really punched _her_, just her doppelganger, her face was unmarred.

"What do you think is gonna happen to her when she wakes up?" the Bostonian asked.

"I honestly don't know," Buffy sighed. "It'll take her a while to heal, I'm sure. And maybe she'll never really physically recover," she added. "I think if Dr. Primrose had intended on charging her with kidnapping or aiding a patient escaping, there would have been police guards outside of the room. Maybe they'll just let her leave," she noted hopefully.

Faith nodded, and looked back down at the mug of tea in her hands. "Maybe," she repeated quietly.

"My head is full of thoughts," Buffy complained aloud. "If that other world is really just an alternate dimension and not a figment of my imagination, does that mean we _all _have doppelgangers? And could I have _another _twin in yet _another _dimension? And how come the alternate version of me has to be crazy and a single mom?" She made a frustrated noise. "It's not fair; I'm not used to all this thinking," the blonde complained.

Knowing she had set herself up for ridicule, Buffy's head snapped up to glare at the brunette. "Watch it," she warned her sister-Slayer.

Faith laughed and held up both hands as a sign of retreat. "I'd never insult your intelligence, girlfriend. Especially now that you're basically back to full slayer-stretch," she added with a wink. "This face is too pretty to keep getting punched."

Buffy stood from the table, her chair legs squeaking as they slid along the marble floor. Faith's eyebrows rose along with the smaller slayer. "Going somewhere?" the brunette asked the other slayer.

"I was thinking that we should go to bed," Buffy proposed.

Faith glanced at the clock over her stovetop. It was barely 4 o'clock. "You're tired?" she questioned.

A sly smile crept onto Buffy's lips. "I said we should go to _bed_, not go to _sleep_," she noted.

Faith nearly spilled the remaining contents of her cup of tea. "What?"

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Buffy mused, "but that tea we just drank is supposed to ground us," Buffy pointed out pragmatically. "We should…test it, and make sure Willow's spell actually works."

Faith stood up. "No, you're not wrong." She allowed herself the gluttonous pleasure of looking at Buffy's tight figure. Even in her current outfit of sweatpants and tank top, the Chosen One looked delectable.

Buffy held out her hand. "Well?" she asked, her eyebrows rising up expectantly.

Faith took Buffy's hand and pulled the other girl towards her. Buffy stumbled forward, catching herself when her body slammed, not unpleasantly, into the taller slayer's body.

Faith held the smaller slayer at arm's length and stared hard at Buffy. "I ain't gonna be some replacement," she stated gruffly.

"You're not her. And she's not you. The only thing you have in common, is, uh…"

Buffy blushed.

Faith smirked. "A smokin' body, right?" she finished for the blonde.

"Kind of."

"That's good enough for me," Faith grinned. She paused and regarded the lithe blonde. "And you're sure about this?"

Buffy nodded. "I'm sure."

Faith's grin widened. "Then get ready, B. Cause you're about to be devoured."

Faith leaned over Buffy and brought her mouth down to meet the blonde's lips.

Buffy pulled away momentarily. "Bedroom?" she asked in a slightly breathless voice.

"Can't wait."

Faith's hands went to Buffy's sides, and she abruptly lifted the smaller girl up on the kitchen counter. Buffy released a small, surprised noise, which quickly turned to a quiet moan. The Bostonian's mouth went to Buffy's neck while her hands stayed firm on the blonde's hips, pinning her to the countertop. The Boston slayer sucked on Buffy's neck. She scraped her teeth against her pressure point, causing the blonde woman to slightly buck her hips off the counter.

Faith grinned into the smaller woman's skin. Buffy had teased her ruthlessly in the hospital, unwittingly or not, and now Faith was finally getting her opportunity. Her hands released their hold on Buffy's hips and instead wandered up the front of her tight tank top.

Buffy wore no bra beneath her casual top, allowing the brunette's hands to travel freely and unencumbered. The smaller slayer's pert breasts filled the taller woman's hands. Faith could feel Buffy's hardening nipples rubbing against her palms. Buffy's breath was ragged in Faith's ear as the brunette firmly pulled and pinched at her jutting nipples. Shocks of sharp pain kept her on edge as the Boston woman unmercifully handled her sensitive breasts.

"Lift your ass for me," Faith breathed in her lover's ear.

Buffy immediately obeyed the command, lifting her backside off the countertop. Effortlessly, Faith grabbed the elastic waistband of Buffy's sweatpants and pulled the pants down her hips and legs, leaving the blonde slayer naked from the waist down. Faith hunched over slightly to bury her face between Buffy's thighs. The Californian squeaked, surprised by Faith's directness. Soon she was grabbing onto the brunette's unruly locks, however, when the Boston-born slayer's tongue made initial contact with her clit.

Buffy squirmed on the countertop. Faith's hands left her breasts and returned to her hipbones. She firmly held onto the smaller woman, keeping her in place. The blonde had no choice but to let the younger slayer control the pace.

The Californian gasped when she felt Faith's finger tentatively press at the base of her pussy. Buffy moaned as Faith slowly inched her finger the full length of her slit. The dangerous brunette stood to full height again and grinned lasciviously. She continued to stroke along Buffy's naked slit, pulling more and more arousal from her.

"I can't wait to be inside you," Faith purred.

Buffy grabbed the taller slayer by the shoulders and pulled her to her. Their mouths crashed together again, and Faith's fingers continued to glide over the blonde's leaking slit. Encouraging the brunette, Buffy moved her hips on Faith's hand. Her arousal leaked down the insides of her thighs and onto Faith's hand as well.

"God, you're making me so wet," Buffy panted into her talented lover's mouth.

The Bostonian murmured her approval and buried her middle finger into the blonde. Faith cupped the golden-haired woman's sex while her thumb rotated on her slippery clit. 

Faith finger-fucked Buffy faster still, while the Chosen One whimpered shamelessly, readily losing herself to the tightening in her stomach and her sex. Faith released a pained noise when she pushed a second finger into the elder slayer. Buffy's sex wrapped tightly around her digits.

"You feel so good," the brunette panted against the Californian's fragrant skin.

Buffy moaned incoherently in reply, concentrating too hard on the feeling between her thighs to complete intelligible syllables.

Faith bent over once again as she continued to piston her two fingers in and out of her lover's tightening sex. She knew the blonde was going to cum soon. She only needed a little push. Faith sucked Buffy's clit into her mouth, and the Californian saw stars.

Buffy's hands went to the back of Faith's head. Her fingers tangled in the brunette's waves and her nails dug into the Boston woman's scalp. She squirmed against the counter, and pulled Faith's face deeper into her as her first orgasm hit her like a semi-truck.

When the pulsing around her digits ceased, Faith eased her saturated fingers out of Buffy's sex. The Chosen One remained slumped on the counter, her thighs still spread apart, but she didn't care.

"Still with me?" the brunette asked, a little concerned for the other slayer's fragile consciousness.

Buffy nodded wordlessly.

"Are you okay?" Faith couldn't help the cocky smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I didn't wear you out, did I?"

"No." Buffy gave the other slayer a tired, but satisfied grin. "And when I've caught my breath, it's my turn."

"I hate to break it to ya, B, but you can't call what we just did a 'turn,'" Faith playfully mocked. "I barely touched you before you went off like a firecracker."

Buffy's lower lip stuck out. "Don't make fun."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Faith chuckled. She ran a tender hand along the golden-haired slayer's cheekbones. "Just makin' sure you know that I'm not done with you yet."

"Damn it."

Faith opened a sleepy eye when she woke to the sound of Buffy quietly cursing. The blonde had knocked a glass of water off the top of Faith's dresser bureau, and its contents had spilled onto the hardwood floors. The Boston girl shifted in bed and the mattress creaked. Buffy froze and her eyes snapped in the direction of the slowly waking slayer.

Faith frowned in confusion. Instead of wearing pajamas, or still being naked, the golden-haired girl was now dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. Not exactly an outfit that screamed she was ready for morning sex.

"Where are you going, B?" the raven-haired slayer rasped, her voice heavy with sleep. She rubbed at her eyes. "I thought _I _was the one who was supposed to sneak out the morning after."

Buffy's eyes shifted anxiously. "I, ah, have an errand."

Faith sat up slightly in bed and rested her weight on one elbow. "Are you going back to her?"

Buffy dropped her glance. "Just…just for a little bit," she struggled to get out. There was no use lying anymore. "I need to say goodbye."

Faith's features looked concerned. "What if you change your mind? You're in love with her."

Buffy bit her bottom lip. "But I'm…I'm in love with you more."

A small smile played on Faith's dangerous lips. "You should come back to bed," she lured. She pulled back the top sheet, inviting her lover to crawl in next to her still-naked body.

Buffy drank in the view of Faith's painfully addictive figure.

"I'm sorry, Fai." Buffy shook her head. "But I've got to do this."

Faith frowned and pulled the sheets back to their previous position, covering her figure once again. "Couldn't you just do what you have to do _here_? You don't have to _physically _leave, right?"

"I thought about that," Buffy admitted. "But I didn't want you to wake up and find me unconscious again."

Faith watched as her partner pulled her hair back into a ponytail. "Promise me you'll come back with your brain intact?"

"I didn't realize you held my brain in such high esteem," Buffy joked nervously.

"You're the complete package," Faith said seriously. "That pink thing rolling around inside your cranium is part of the deal, too."

"I-I should be fine," Buffy said unconvincingly. "If it's just a short visit…it shouldn't hurt."

Faith frowned. "Then at least promise me you're coming back."

Buffy pulled her shoes on and didn't immediately respond.

"I'll see you soon," she finally stated quietly.

Faith watched Buffy slip out of the bedroom they'd shared the previous night. She could hear the blonde's shoes pad against the hardwood floor that ran the length of the hallway. After a small amount of shuffling, she heard the front lock click and the squeak of the door opening. A small sound, like a quiet sigh followed, and then the door shut.

Faith flopped back down onto her pillow and stared at the ceiling. She released a deep, shuddering breath. There was no point going after the elder slayer or trying to stop her; she knew Buffy wouldn't be satisfied until she'd done things her way.

But Faith couldn't help worrying that amongst trying to make everyone else happy, the blonde slayer would lose herself again.

But at least this time the Boston girl knew where to find her.

TBC


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 21.5**

Buffy opened her eyes and found herself in a brightly lit hospital room. The sun streamed in from the oversized windows. It seemed like it was always sunny in Los Angeles. She stretched her arms above her head. Her body felt a little stiff, but she felt healthier than the last time she'd traveled here.

The television was on, some sports program, and the golden-haired girl felt a rush when she realized that her hospital orderly was conscious. Her face had regained some of its color and the dark bruises on her face had begun to fade to a slight yellow as if the brunette had jaundice. Buffy silently mused that her fist had no doubt been the reason why her face had not completely healed.

"You look so much better," the Chosen One smiled sleepily.

The girl sitting in the parallel bed snapped to attention. "Buffy!" she exclaimed. "You're awake!" The brunette woman fumbled with the call button, "Let me get a nurse for you."

Surprisingly nimble, the blonde jumped out of her hospital bed and went to the other woman. "No, there's no need to do that."

The former hospital orderly looked alarmed at the slayer's quickness. "How did you do that?" she asked. "You just woke up from a coma!"

Buffy chewed on her lip. "I've been awake for a while now."

The other woman's eyebrows furrowed together. "I don't understand. When I woke up, they told me you were still unconscious." Her face seemed to darken with realization. "You went back to Sunnydale, didn't you?" she said in a lower tone.

Buffy dropped her eyes and nodded. "I just came back to say goodbye," she said quietly.

"_Goodbye?"_ The single word came out strangled.

"I belong there," the Chosen One continued in a calm and even voice.

"But what about us?" demanded the woman who had given up everything to be with the blonde patient.

"I still don't know what's more real," Buffy admitted. "This world where I'm crazy or a world where vampires and demons exist. But I realize now that none of that matters. What's important is to be where I'm needed."

She-who-was-not-Faith grabbed Buffy's hand and pressed it against her heart. "Buffy," she choked out. "_I _need you_._"

"Please. Don't make this harder." Buffy closed her eyes and shook her head. "I have to go back," she said quietly. "I've got to make things right with her."

"With who?" the former hospital staffer questioned.

Buffy opened her hazel-green eyes and looked upon the orderly's bruised features. "With you."

Faith's twin blinked. "I don't…I don't understand you at all, Buffy."

"I know." Buffy flashed the other woman a brave smile. She patted her on the hand. "And that's okay, too."

"So that's it?" the broken woman exclaimed. "You're just giving up?"

Buffy grimaced. She had known that saying goodbye was going to be hard – that the other woman wouldn't understand her motives. But the Chosen One felt she owed it to this woman who had gone out of her way to not only befriend her when everyone else thought she was crazy, but who sacrificed her employment to aid her.

"What about Dawn?" the orderly blurted out. She hated bringing up the subject of Buffy's daughter, but she was grasping at straws at this point. "She needs you too, you know. You're her Mom."

The blonde frowned at the memory of the little brown-haired girl. Those dark, soulful eyes would probably always haunt her dreams.

"I-I…" Buffy's voice broke with emotion. She paused momentarily, collecting herself. "I'm not her Mom," she said finally. "I might have given birth to her, but I'm not her Mom."

The orderly sat in stunned silence. "I can't believe this is actually happening," she stated, more to herself than to the blonde.

Buffy stroked her fingertips along the beautiful brunette's strong jaw line. "Take care of yourself," she murmured.

And then, as though someone had turned off the light inside her eyes, Buffy was no longer present. Her body slumped slightly like a marionette no longer controlled by someone else's strings.

"Don't, Buffy," the brunette woman gasped, choking on retching sobs. "Don't go," she wailed.

The hospital attendant hugged Buffy's unconscious and unblinking body against her chest and cried.

TBC


	23. Chapter 23

_Cleveland_

Buffy unlocked the front door to Faith's apartment and silently entered. She carefully took off her shoes and set them in the front foyer. The slight murmur of the radio and the sizzle of something frying on the stovetop wafted from the kitchen area.

The Californian padded into Faith's kitchenette and found the dark-haired slayer making breakfast dressed in short cotton boxers and a tank top. Her long locks were tossed up in an unruly ponytail.

Buffy knew she hadn't been so silent in her re-entry that the other slayer wouldn't have heard or felt her presence. She was surprised that Faith remained facing the kitchen stove instead of turning to greet her.

"Smells good," Buffy observed.

She lifted herself up to sit on the edge of the kitchen counter. She allowed herself an eyeful of Faith's figure from her femininely muscled shoulders to her tapered waist to the way her cotton shorts hugged her backside.

"Hopefully it'll taste good too," Faith noted, hovering over the oven range.

The brunette slayer didn't turn to look at the other woman seated behind her. She continued to tend to the frying bacon and hashbrowns.

"Are you going to acknowledge that I'm back?" Buffy demanded, feeling jilted by Faith's stoical attitude about her return.

"Welcome back," Faith said, her voice dull and emotionless.

Buffy hopped off the kitchen counter and onto the floor. "Well, if I knew this was going to be my reception," she growled, "I would have just stayed in Los Angeles."

"What do you want from me, Buffy?" Faith asked, her voice flaring with anger. She slowly turned around to finally face the elder slayer. Her mascara from the previous night was streaked down her cheeks. "Do you want me to _cry_?"

Buffy's building rage immediately melted when she saw her lover's tear-streaked face. "Oh, Fai…" she whispered.

Faith turned her head away from Buffy's line of sight. "It's nothing. Just something in my eye," she lamely mumbled.

Buffy took a step toward the taller woman. She hesitantly reached out and touched her fingertips to Faith's bare arm. When the Boston woman didn't immediately push her away, she took another step closer and wrapped her arms around the other woman's waist.

Buffy pressed her face against Faith's collarbone and breathed in her scent. "Don't cry," she murmured into the younger woman's body. The Californian could feel Faith's body go rigid.

"I don't cry," she stiffly insisted.

Buffy reached up and wiped away a few stubborn tears from the beautiful brunette's face. "I know you don't," she said, her voice anything but mocking.

Faith's features crumbled and her shoulders hunched. "You left me," she whispered.

The Californian felt like crying. "But I came back," she said, her voice cracking with emotion.

The brunette woman wiped at her eyes with the backs of her hands, smearing her eye makeup even more. "You know, I really thought I could live without you," she sighed. "I came back to Sunnydale when you were gone, and I slipped so easily into your role. And it just became easier and easier here in Cleveland with you not around. But then you came back."

"And I messed everything up?" Buffy asked, her features scrunching together.

"No…" Faith shook her head. "You came back…and I realized I hadn't really been living."

Buffy tightened her hold around the taller woman's waist and once again buried her face into Faith's breastplate.

The two women stood motionless for a moment, just holding each other until the smoke alarm interrupted the moment.

Faith gently pulled away from the blonde and laughed when she saw the bacon and potatoes were thoroughly burnt. She turned off the gas range and tossed the dirty frying pans into the sink. "Well, I guess breakfast is a bust."

Buffy smiled at the dark-eyed brunette. "We could always go out for breakfast."

The Boston woman's mouth curled into a mischievous smile. "Now that you're back, I was kind of hoping we could stay in."

Buffy's grin matched the taller slayer's. She let her eyes roam over her lover's firm body. "I'm suddenly craving something other than breakfast."

_Los Angeles_

The brunette woman finished filling the salt and pepper shakers in her section of the Los Angeles café. The sun shone through the window panes, warming her skin. She looked forward to getting off work and spending the rest of the day at the beach.

A few months had passed since the woman's unorthodox employment at the mental hospital. To her relief, Dr. Primrose and the hospital board hadn't sought disciplinary actions for her part in Buffy's escape. Perhaps the doctor had seen the brunette woman had already suffered enough. Buffy's non-responsive body had been sent back to the asylum, and she had remained in the hospital to heal.

She'd received a modest financial settlement from the car crash which had helped pay for her medical bills and the physical therapy she continued to receive. When the weather got cold and rainy, the leg that had been shattered still ached, but for the most part she had completely healed from the accident. Physically, at least.

She still woke up in the middle of the night, sheets wrapped around her bare limbs, her body cold with sweat. She dreamed about hunting vampires and other monsters. Of princesses and peasant girls. Of a blonde woman walking into the sunlight.

Tucking that day's tips into her messenger bag, she said her goodbyes to the tiny Greek couple who owned the restaurant where she was currently employed. She checked her reflection in the mirror above the register area one more time and walked out into sun.

Exciting the corner bistro, the woman was alarmed when a body immediately smashed into her. The brunette's messenger bag stayed strapped to her body, but the other person's bag fell to the sidewalk, its contents spilling out.

"Shit, I'm sorry," the brunette apologized. She dropped to her knees and immediately began helping the other woman pick up her belongings.

"No, it's my fault," the smaller woman breathed. "I should have been paying better attention. I'm always in such a rush," she babbled. "Like I'm trying to make up for lost time."

The East-coast girl nearly swallowed her tongue when she finally looked up at the woman she'd literally run into. With the sun behind her, her features were momentarily dark compared to an ethereal halo surrounding her figure. The woman's blonde hair was long and cascaded down her shoulders in carefully curled locks. She wore a long white trench coat, cinched around her lithe waist, paired with black dress pants and pointy-toed shoes.

But even though the woman's hair was longer than she remembered and she wasn't dressed in a hospital gown or pajamas, the brunette woman immediately recognized the other girl.

"Buffy?"

The Californian's hazel-green eyes narrowed in confusion. "Sorry, do I know you?"

The former hospital employee hopped up from the ground and brushed the gravel off her hands. "It's me…it's…."

The girl's voice trailed off when she realized the woman standing before her had no idea who she was. She shook her head. "So how's life in Sunnydale?" she tried instead.

The color seemed to drain from Buffy's face. "I haven't been to Sunnydale in a very long time," she said, weighing her words carefully. "Who are you?"

The brunette woman held up her hands before the small blonde could run away. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that; it was rude of me," she apologized. "I know you don't know me," she tried again, "but would you like to grab a cup of coffee?"

"I…have to go," Buffy said, equally alarmed and intrigued by the beautiful stranger. She re-shouldered her bag tighter to her body. "I have to pick my daughter up from school."

"Dawn, right? How is she?"

Buffy halted her hasty retreat, and dropped her oversized purse on the ground. "How do you know about that? About her? About…" her voice dropped low. "…Sunnydale."

"Let's just say that you and I met in a past life," the brunette woman offered with a gentle smile.

"Did you work…at the hospital?" Buffy asked in a small voice. She looked timid, like a small mouse ready to bolt.

"I did," the brunette breathed.

It was killing her to see the girl she had fallen in love with standing before her, scared and not knowing who she was or what they'd been through together. She wanted so much to reach out and hug her.

"I'm sorry I don't remember you," Buffy unnecessarily apologized. "I really don't remember much about what happened when I was there. I got better," she stated simply. "And they let me out."

"Do you…" the brunette hesitated. "Do you have dreams? Dreams that don't make any sense, but somehow feel as natural as breathing?"

Buffy swallowed. "Yes," she whispered. "But I don't talk about them. I never want to go back to that place," she said in a much stronger voice. "If they sent you…I'm cured. I'm happy. I have Dawn and my family and I'm getting back on my feet."

The brunette held up her hands. "I promise you I'm not a spy," she insisted. "I just…I can't believe that I ran into you like this," she gushed. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again. I didn't think…" The brunette shook her head and smiled. "Wow…just look at you. You're gorgeous."

Buffy stared at the attractive brunette who stood beaming in front of her. She felt guilty for not knowing who she was when the other woman seemed to know so much about her. She realized it was a ridiculous emotion; she hadn't been lucid the majority of the time she'd been in the asylum.

There was something about this woman though. Something that, instead of making her want to run, made her want to hang around a little bit longer. She knew, hidden away in the corner of her mind, that this woman had been in her life.

"I'd really like to catch up and hear what you've been up to lately," the brunette stranger said with another dimpled grin. "Are you sure you don't have time for some coffee?"

Despite her original misgivings, a small smile fluttered onto Buffy's face. "I guess I have time for _one_ cup."

FIN


End file.
